Kjathleen  Worris 


JOSSELYN'SWIFE 

By  KATHLEEN  NORRIS 

Anthor  of 

"  The  Story  of  Julia  Page," 
"  The  Heart  of  Rachel,"  Etc. 

A  remarkable  fate  trans 
ports,  sweet,  simple  Ellen 
Latimer  from  the  humdrum 
life  of  a  small  country  town, 
first  to  the  studios  of  Paris 
and  then  to  the  luxuries  among 
the  wealthy  New  Yorkers. 
Her  love  for  Gibbs  Josselyn 
is  made  to  undergo  a  severe 
strain  when  his  youthful  and 
attractive  step-mother  man- 
oeuvers  her  way  between 
them.  Then,  when  she  is 
thrust  overnight  into  the 
midst  of  all  the  sensations 
and  agonies  of  a  murder  trial, 
the  last  shred  of  doubt  in  her 
love  is  wafted  away  in  her 
valiant  fight  for  her  hus 
band's  life. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 


"It  was  his  beautiful  young  mother-in-law  who  shared 
with    Gibbs   the   interest   of  his   guests 


JOSSELYN'S 
WIFE 


BY 

KATHLEEN  NORRIS 


AUTHOR  OF 

THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE, 
MOTHER,  ETC. 


FRONTISPIECE  BY 

C.  ALLAN  GILBERT 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  NEW    YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  igiS,  BY 

KATHLEEN  NORRIS 

ALL  RIGHTS   RESERVED 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES 

AT 
THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  N.  T. 


COPYRIGHT,  1917,  1918,  BY  THE  PICTORIAL  REVIEW  COMPAST 


SRLF 
URL 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 


JOSSELYN'S    WIFE 

CHAPTER  I 

ELLEN  LATIMER  reached  the  big  station  just  before 
the  rain  began  to  fall,  and  whisked  into  its  gloomy 
depths  with  a  smile  of  triumph  on  her  pretty  gipsy  face. 
Her  suit  had  just  been  pressed,  and  her  hat  was  new; 
it  would  have  been  a  calamity  to  have  them  get  wet. 
Aunt  Elsie  had  cautioned  her  to  carry  her  umbrella  that 
morning,  and  Ellen  had  merely  shaken  her  head;  the 
November  sky  was  dark  and  low,  it  was  true,  but  they 
were  reaching  the  season  now  when  they  might  look 
for  snow,  not  rain. 

However,  now  it  was  raining,  and  she  had  escaped 
it  undeservedly.  Ellen  followed  the  line  of  hurrying 
Long  Island  commuters  down  the  long  arcade,  her  own 
feet  adding  to  the  unceasing  crisp  and  shuffle  of  a 
thousand  other  feet.  She  went  past  the  paper  stand, 
where  laden  men  were  slapping  down  pennies  and  rush 
ing  on  with  hardly  a  perceptible  pause,  and  where 
young  boys  and  girls  were  buying  packages  of  gum  and 
chocolates,  and  where  all  the  pretty  girls  in  the  world 
were  smiling  from  the  brilliant  covers  of  magazines; 
girls  peeling  pumpkins,  in  demure  kitchen  ginghams, 
and  girls  furred  to  the  eyes,  going  to  football  games 
with  pennants  over  their  shoulders,  for  Thanksgiving 
was  close  at  hand.  And  she  went  past  the  clock  that 
was  watched  by  so  many  patient  and  eager  eyes,  and  the 

3 


4  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

empty  bootblack  stand  where  a  tired  woman  had 
established  herself  and  her  babies,  and  so  came  to  the 
special  gate  among  a  dozen  gates  where  a  red  boxed  sign 
showed  the  words  "Express  Port  Washington  5:22." 
Already  a  hundred  tired  men  and  women,  in  sober 
wet-weather  clothing,  were  pressed  against  this  gate, 
and  Ellen  pressed  with  them.  She  had  spent  the 
morning,  as  usual,  at  the  Art  Students'  League,  but 
she  had  deliberately  loitered  about  the  city,  all  the 
afternoon,  in  the  hope  that  Ellis  Thorpe  would  join 
her  on  this  train.  Ellen's  destination  was  Port  Wash 
ington,  a  quiet  old  village  at  the  terminus  of  the  line, 
but  Ellis  lived  at  Douglaston,  which  was  a  fashionable 
modern  colony,  four  miles  nearer  New  York. 

Ellen  did  not  know  him  well:  they  had  been  intro 
duced  in  the  train,  and  never  met  elsewhere.  Ellis 
was  only  nineteen,  still  in  High  School,  and  the  girl 
was  more  than  three  years  older.  But,  for  want  of 
more  appropriate  admiration,  she  enjoyed  his,  and 
she  made  room  for  him  beside  her  in  the  seat  to-night 
with  a  welcoming  smile. 

He  was  a  handsome  boy,  with  rain  on  his  thick,  rough 
suit,  and  on  his  absurd  yellow  oxfords,  and  on  his  pale 
gray  felt  hat.  Ellen  thought  him  marvellously  well- 
dressed,  an  opinion  the  youth  innocently  shared.  She 
knew  only  a  few  men,  and  she  was  at  an  age  that 
hungers  for  their  company. 

They  talked  only  of  themselves  as  the  train  tore  on 
its  noisy  way.  Ellen  talked  of  her  day's  experiences 
at  the  Art  League,  and  her  starry  beauty,  and  the 
flash  of  her  blue  eyes,  under  the  new,  fur-trimmed  hat, 
and  the  infectious  gaiety  of  her  laugh,  lent  the  dull 
subject  a  sudden  charm.  Young  Thorpe  was  personal 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  5 

in  his  replies;  his  was  the  type  that  renders  person 
alities  inoffensive,  and  Ellen  flushed  with  amusement 
and  pleasure,  and  turned  from  his  merciless  stare  to 
smile  at  her  own  reflection  in  the  dark  car  window. 

It  was  a  lovely  reflection.  The  laughing  eyes  were 
a  deep  Irish  blue,  with  soft  shadows  and  long  sooty 
lashes  accentuating  their  essential  innocence.  The 
skin  had  a  pure  and  healthy  pallor,  except  on  the  high 
cheekbones,  where  there  was  a  brilliant  touch  of 
colour,  and  Ellen's  mouth  was  wide,  like  her  Irish 
mother's,  kindly,  humorous,  the  thin  lips  exquisitely 
red,  the  big  teeth  shining.  Her  hair  was  a  satiny 
black,  and  to-night  the  rain  had  curled  it,  and  little 
strands  had  blown  up  against  the  fur  of  her  hat.  Ellen 
thought,  herself,  that  she  was  pretty,  but  the  thought 
rarely  gave  her  any  pleasure.  What  was  the  use  of 
mere  beauty  if  one  lacked  every  other  good  thing  in 
the  world?  She  was  poor,  ambitious,  eager  for  life, 
ignorant  as  to  the  means  of  gaining  her  place  in  the 
world. 

Her  father's  father  had  been  a  sea  captain.  He  was 
an  old  man  now,  living  with  a  vigorous  widowed  daugh 
ter,  Ellen's  Aunt  Elsie.  The  two  had  made  a  home  for 
Ellen  and  little  Joe  when  Ellen's  father,  several  years 
after  her  mother,  had  died  ten  years  ago.  Her 
father's  business  had  been  vaguely  connected  with 
ships,  too;  he  had  a  little  office  on  a  dock,  in  the  city, 
and  sometimes  took  the  children  there  on  Sunday 
afternoons  in  summer,  calling  various  men  he  met 
"Dan"  and  "George,"  and  being  called  "Joe"  by  them 
in  return.  In  these  days  the  children  boarded  with 
him  in  a  quiet  old  house  in  Christopher  Street,  and  Mrs. 
Daley,  the  landlady,  washed  them  tremendously  before 


6  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

school  each  morning,  and  scolded  them  about  their 
clothes. 

At  least  once  a  month  their  father  took  them  down 
to  Port  Washington,  eighteen  miles  away  from  New 
York  on  the  Sound  side  of  Long  Island,  to  see  Grandpa 
Latimer  and  Aunt  Elsie,  in  the  old-fashioned  house  on 
Main  Street,  and  sometimes  he  left  them  there  for  a 
week  or  two,  in  summer,  and  they  swam  and  boated 
and  wandered  along  the  shore  as  happy  as  the  clams 
that  shot  streams  of  water  over  their  boots,  or  the 
puppy  that  gambled  in  their  wake.  Aunt  Elsie  wor 
ried  and  fussed  over  them  constantly,  and  Grandpa 
was  notably  inhospitable,  but  they  did  not  notice 
grown  persons  in  these  care-free  days,  and  were  always 
sorry  to  go  back  to  Christopher  Street. 

But  with  their  father's  sudden  death  everything  was 
changed.  They  said  good-bye  to  the  weeping  Mrs. 
Daley  forever,  and  went  to  live  with  Aunt  Elsie  in  the 
Main  Street  house.  Ellen  was  twelve  then,  and  sen 
sitive,  and  Joe,  at  eight,  was  beginning  to  be  unman 
ageable.  Grandpa,  idle,  and  shelved  after  a  life  of  high 
adventure,  resented  their  noise  and  their  claims. 
And  Aunt  Elsie's  way  of  enjoying  life  was  to  worry 
and  fret,  fume  and  scold  and  fuss.  Ellen  never  real 
ized  this;  she  always  believed  that  Aunt  Elsie  might 
have  been  happier  had  domestic  events  run  more 
smoothly.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Mrs.  Baldwin  was 
supremely  happy,  in  her  own  way. 

Ellen  went  to  the  village  school,  and  then  to  High 
School,  always  with  the  dread  in  her  young  heart  that 
after  High  School  she  would  have  to  "work."  To  her 
there  seemed  something  dreadful  in  the  idea  of  becom 
ing  a  working  woman.  She  decided  that  she  would  go 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  7 

away,  if  this  necessity  came  upon  her,  she  would  be 
come  a  nurse,  in  a  trim  white  uniform,  and  there  would 
be,  in  the  hospital,  a  stunning  young  doctor.  .  .  . 

However,  just  before  her  graduation,  a  miracle 
happened.  On  a  certain  July  day,  when  there  were  a 
million  roses  in  bloom  in  the  old  garden,  Mrs.  E. 
Sewall  Rose  came  to  call  on  Aunt  Elsie.  Her  car 
waited  at  the  gate,  she  was  on  her  way  to  Sands  Point, 
the  fashionable  colony  of  a  score  of  seaside  homes  two 
miles  away.  She  was  large,  perfumed,  beautiful,  and 
kindly.  She  kissed  Ellen,  and  called  her  "Nellie 
Buckley's  girl,"  and  she  told  Ellen  that  she  had  loved 
her  mother.  They  had  been  girls  together  in  a  con 
vent  boarding-school. 

"The  Buckleys  were  lovely  people,"  said  this  en 
chanting  visitor,  "and  Nellie  was  an  angel.  They  had 
a  great  deal  of  money  then;  I  went  to  drive  with  her 
many  a  time  behind  a  pair  of  the  handsomest  horses 
you  ever  saw.  Whatever  happened.  .  .  ?" 

Aunt  Elsie  said  something  of  speculations;  it  was  all 
long  ago.  The  Buckleys  were  all  scattered  and  dead. 
She  sighed  with  sad  enjoyment. 

The  visitor  roamed  about  the  parlour,  with  its  shells 
and  albums  and  antimacassars,  and  its  embroidered 
mantel  drapery,  and  glass  tube  of  sand  from  Palestine. 
The  summer  sunlight  came  in  under  the  green  shades, 
and  through  the  stiff  lace  curtains,  and  the  canary,  over 
a  window  full  of  potted  plants,  broke  into  song. 

She  came  upon  some  of  Ellen's  school  work,  and  asked 
Ellen  questions.  And  Ellen  told  her  with  shy  eagerness 
that  she  had  hoped  to  be  an  artist;  she  had  gotten  all 
the  highest  marks,  and  once  had  won  a  prize.  Mrs. 
E.  Sewall  Rose  asked  her  where  she  was  going  to  study. 


8  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

Aunt  Elsie  answered  this  question.  Ellen  had  no 
time  for  fooling;  she  was  going  to  work;  they  had  the 
boy  to  raise,  and  Father  felt  they  had  done  all  that  duty 
required.  It  was  time  now  for  Ellen  to  realize  that  life 
wasn't  all  prettiness  and  play. 

She  said  it  pleasantly  enough,  and  the  background  of 
the  comfortable  home,  and  pretty  Ellen,  in  her  carefully 
made  gingham,  and  the  plate  of  crullers  and  the  decan 
ter  of  wild  cherry  wine  were  all  there  to  soften  it.  But 
a  week  later  Mrs.  E.  Sewall  Rose  wrote  to  Aunt  Elsie, 
and  sent  a  check  that  was  to  cover  all  the  expenses; 
commutation-ticket,  lunches,  materials,  and  fees,  for 
Ellen's  first  quarter  at  the  Art  Students'  League. 
Ellen  mounted  straight  into  Paradise.  To  tell  the 
girls — to  let  it  casually  drop  that  her  life  was  not  to 
be  as  other  lives — to  spend  her  mornings  in  a  real 
studio,  with  real  workers — it  was  Heaven  indeed.  Ah, 
how  she  would  work,  how  she  would  advance,  how  proud 
they  would  all  be  some  day! 

She  fairly  rushed  into  it.  She  was  the  most  earnest, 
the  most  tremblingly  happy,  of  all  the  earnest,  tremb 
ling  beginners  that  fall.  And  she  did  succeed.  Her 
honesty,  and  her  simplicity,  and  her  pure  and  fiery 
ambition,  made  her  a  marked  figure  in  the  classes  from 
the  beginning.  She  was  pretty,  and  she  naturally 
loved  admiration,  but  she  did  not  recognize  harm,  and 
her  soul  slipped  from  it  unscathed.  There  were  a  great 
many  silly  girls  in  the  art  classes,  and  a  few  serious 
ones,  like  Ellen.  The  boys  were  dark,  earnest  young 
Hebrews  for  the  most  part,  risen  from  emigrant  homes; 
poor,  shabby,  sometimes  hungry,  but  making  steadily 
for  their  goal.  Other  boys  were  there,  too,  lounging, 
unkempt  youths,  who  meant  to  "get  into  the  news- 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  9 

paper  game."  Olga  Briner,  a  pretty  Russian  girl  of 
whom  Ellen  was  fond,  said,  with  what  Ellen  thought 
profound  truth,  one  day:  "These  boys  are  fun.  But 
the  sort  of  men  you  and  I  could  marry  are  in  college 
at  these  years." 

Perhaps  two  or  three  times  during  the  winter  Mrs. 
Rose  asked  her  protegee  to  lunch  with  her.  She  would 
be  on  a  shopping  trip,  furred,  and  scented  with  violets, 
and  she  would  make  Ellen  order  all  sorts  of  expensive 
dishes.  Mrs.  Rose  herself  generally  played  with  clear 
bouillon  and  cold  chicken,  but  she  made  Ellen  have 
sweets,  at  the  end,  and  smiled  at  her  as  she  sipped  black 
coffee.  The  girl  went  back  to  her  work  with  a  flushed 
face  and  a  dancing  heart.  All  afternoon  she  would  be 
living  over  their  conversation;  had  she  talked  too  much  ? 
had  she  talked  foolishly? 

So  two  terms,  three  terms,  went  by.  And  now 
Ellen  was  well  into  a  fourth,  and  felt  herself  no  nearer 
a  livelihood  than  she  had  been  at  the  end  of  the  first. 
How  did  a  woman  begin  to  support  herself  by  art? 
Some  of  the  boys  did  really  drift  into  newspaper  offices, 
but  what  they  did  there  seemed  to  be  errands  and 
answering  the  telephones  and  rushing  about  town 
upon  uninteresting  investigations,  rather  than  sitting 
at  drawing-boards.  Ellen  could  not  do  that.  Nor 
could  she  open  a  studio  on  Washington  Square,  and  go 
about  from  office  to  office  of  the  magazines  selling 
pictures. 

A  deep  discontent  fell  upon  her,  and  she  began  to 
turn  to  the  world-old  refuge  of  women:  she  would 
marry.  Then,  when  the  urgent  financial  question 
was  laid  at  rest,  she  might  begin  to  make  her  way. 

She  knew  that  Ellis  Thorpe  came  of  a  good  family, 


10  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

for  he  spoke  of  "Mother's  dinners,"  and  "the  year  Sis 
came  out,"  and  he  was  sometimes  met  at  the  train  by 
a  motor-car.  Ellen  innocently  decided  that  Ellis 
would  "do,"  in  spite  of  the  humiliating  discrepancy  in 
their  ages.  ~If  he  asked  to  call  some  day,  she  would 
ask  him  to  dinner.  That  would  be  the  beginning. 

He  left  her  at  Douglaston,  and  looking  out  into  the 
black  night  to  smile  a  good-bye,  she  saw  with  satis 
faction  that  the  rain  had  really  turned  to  a  fine  snow, 
the  first  of  the  season.  Her  hat  was  safe. 

And  Joe,  with  an  umbrella,  met  her  with  the  first 
rush  of  pure  country  air,  at  the  station.  Ellen,  whose 
Celtic  heart  was  always  eagerly  reaching  for  evidences 
of  affection  in  this  adored  younger  brother,  thought 
this  wonderfully  sweet  in  Joe. 

He  was  a  big,  lumbering,  loosely-built  lad  of  eigh 
teen,  in  muddy  boots,  rough  corduroy  trousers,  and  with 
a  gray  sweater's  rolling  collar  touching  his  ears.  Win 
ter  and  summer  Joe  lived  in  this  or  a  similar  sweater. 
His  untidy  black  hair  fell  in  a  long  lock  between  his 
handsome  black  eyes;  he  grinned  amiably  at  his  sister. 

"Joe,  you  are  a  darling!"  Ellen  said  gratefully. 
"Aunt  Elsie  would  have  scolded  me.  Did  you  come 
right  out  again,  when  you  got  home,  to  meet  me  ? " 

"No,  I've  been  home  all  afternoon,  fooling  'round." 
Joe  yawned.  "I  fixed  a  coal-box  on  the  back  porch 
for  Aunt  Elsie.  All  you've  gotter  do  is  have  the  feller 
slide  in  half  a  ton,  and  she  doesn't  have  to  go  down 
cellar  at  all!" 

"But  what  about  Bates?"  Ellen  asked  anxiously. 
For  Joe's  latest  employment  had  been  with  a  contractor 
.named  Bates.  Joe  had  declined  High  School,  and  had 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  11 

driven  the  village  grocery  wagon  during  his  fifteenth 
year.  Then  he  had  worked  with  the  plumber,  and  the 
electrician.  After  that  he  had  worked  upon  a  private 
yacht  for  a  whole  summer,  had  lived  in  New  York  for  a 
few  months,  deeply  enjoying  his  initiation  into  the 
work  of  a  cub  reporter,  and  only  two  weeks  ago,  upon 
Grandpa  Latimer  becoming  distrustful  of  the  effect 
upon  so  young  a  boy  of  boarding  in  the  city,  Joe  had 
indifferently  and  good  naturedly  returned  home,  and 
engaged  himself  to  Bates. 

"Can't  work  this  weather!"  he  reminded  his  sister, 
keeping  beside  her,  but  refusing  to  share  the  umbrella. 

"I  wish  Grandpa  had  left  you  with  the  Tribune!" 
Ellen  said.  "You  could  have  gone  in  on  the  seven 
train,  and  gotten  the  six  back!" 

"Sure  I  could!"  agreed  Joe,  with  another  yawn. 
Ellen  looked  at  him,  and  sighed  sharply.  Joe  was 
utterly  devoid  of  ambition. 

The  Latimer  house  was  on  the  right  side  of  Main 
Street,  perhaps  the  tenth  or  twelfth  in  an  unbroken 
line  of  fenced,  old-fashioned  village  homes.  On  the 
left  side  of  the  wandering  street,  which  curved  half 
a  mile  downhill  to  the  shore  of  Manhasset  Bay,  several 
orderly  blocks  had  been  outlined,  but  the  houses  on  the 
right  hung  on  the  edge  of  a  hill,  and  behind  them  was 
only  old  farmland.  All  these  houses  had  flat  gardens 
in  front,  and  big  trees.  All  were  wooden,  and  simple 
of  design:  four  windows  separated  by  a  porch  door 
downstairs,  five  windows  in  an  unbroken  row  upstairs, 
looking  out  upon  the  porch  roof.  There  was  a  definite, 
primitive  beauty  about  them;  they  were  old,  and  age 
had  somewhat  softened  their  ugliness;  their  small- 
*>aned  windows  radiated  homely  cheer.  But  Ellen 


12  JOSSELYN  S  WIFE 

saw  no  beauty  here,  she  longed  for  one  of  the  modern, 
smaller  houses  up  toward  Flower  Hill;  houses  with 
bathrooms  in  them,  and  electric  light,  and  fireplace 
and  furnaces;  houses  with  wide  windows,  and  shingles 
and  white  paint. 

The  Latimer  house  was  warmed  downstairs  by  two 
air-tight  stoves  and  upstairs  by  such  currents  of 
softened  air  as  emanated  from  these  homely  but  useful 
articles.  Also  there  was  a  large  kitchen  range,  built 
solidly  in  a  brick  frame,  with  a  cast-iron  top,  in  which 
there  was  only  one  circular  opening,  and  four  graded 
rings  of  iron  to  fill  the  opening.  There  had  been  five 
rings  once,  but  Joe  had  lost  the  littlest  one,  to  Aunt 
Elsie's  abiding  grief.  Since  then  there  had  always  been 
a  tiny  round  hole  on  the  very  top  of  the  fire,  into  which 
a  child  might  glance  at  the  blue  heart  of  the  flames. 
This  stove  radiated  a  glorious  heat,  and  on  cold  morn 
ings  the  family  breakfasted  in  the  kitchen,  with  winter 
sunshine  pouring  in  the  window,  and  toast  and  eggs  and 
coffee  smoking  hot  from  the  fire;  a  dazzle  of  snow  with 
out,  and  all  comfort  and  cheer  within.  But  Ellen 
never  told  her  friends  at  the  League  that  she  break 
fasted  in  the  kitchen. 

To-night  her  aunt  nodded  to  her  from  the  stove,  and 
Ellen,  who  had  hung  up  her  hat  and  coat,  smiled  back 
as  she  warmed  her  hands  over  the  glow.  There  was  a 
delicious  smell  in  the  kitchen.  Mrs.  Baldwin  was  a 
stubborn  cook,  not  apt  to  learn  new  ways  of  doing 
things,  and  inclined  to  sniff  at  talk  of  calories  and 
phosphates  and  the  balance  of  starches  and  fats. 
But  she  cooked  a  great  many  things  with  skill,  and  was 
justly  proud  of  her  art.  Her  mood  never  came  so  close 
to  gaiety  as  when  Joe  shouted  over  her  layer-cakes  and 


13 

waffles,  or  when,  as  now,  Ellen  gave  a  deep  smiling  sigh 
at  the  sight  of  creamed  mutton  stew  with  dumplings, 
corn  pudding,  and  fried  sweet  potatoes. 

"Oo — Aunty!  What  a  good  dinner!  And  I'm 
starving." 

"Well,  I  hope  you'll  get  enough,"  Mrs.  Baldwin 
said,  with  the  little  nervous  twitch  of  her  countenance 
that  passed  for  a  smile.  "I  don't  know  what  possesses 
the  meat — they  don't  give  you  the  meat  now  they  did 
ten  years  ago.  You  cook  the  taste  all  out  of  it,  and 
then  it's  as  tough  as  your  shoe.  I  s'pose  you  didn't 
think  to  tell  Joe  to  leave  his  shoes  outside  the  door  or 
else  come  in  through  the  laundry.  It'd  be  a  relief  to 
me,  Ellen,  if  you'd  try  to  think  of  it  now  and  then.  I 
can't  wait  on  you  folks  like  you  were  babies,  forever. 
There's  a  letter  for  you  up  by  the  clock.  Go  tell  Grand 
pa  supper's  ready,  and  see  if  I've  left  anything  off  the 
table.  .  .  ." 

Ellen  escaped  the  tireless  voice.  She  went  into  the 
living  room,  a  rather  small  room  where  the  round 
table  was  already  set  for  supper.  One  of  the  air-tight 
stoves  was  here,  and  near  it  sat  old  Captain  Latimer, 
with  his  thin  silky  white  hair  brushed  scrupulously, 
and  his  old  carpet  slippers  resting  on  the  nickel-plated 
shield  of  the  stove.  He  wore  old  gray  trousers,  and  a 
brown  jacket  he  called  his  "Cadogan,"  and  over  his 
chest  a  thin  beard  flowed,  as  white  as  milk.  His  sharp 
eyes  were  bright  blue,  in  a  clean,  weather-beaten  face. 
He  was  reading  the  Port  Washington  News. 

"Do,  Ellin?"  he  said,  in  a  sharp,  high  old  voice. 
"Don't  Elsie  p'pose  to  give  us  no  supper  t'night?" 

"Two  seconds,  Grandpa!"  Ellen  answered  absent- 
mindedly.  Her  eyes  were  only  for  her  letter,  a  big 


14  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

square  letter,  standing  by  the  carved  and  filagreed 
Swiss  clock  on  the  mantel.  Who  was  it  from?  Ah!  it 
was  from  Mrs.  Rose,  of  course. 

Two  minutes  later  the  exulting  Ellen  was  back  in  the 
kitchen. 

"Aunt  Elsie,  isn't  this  wonderful?  Isn't  this  just 
lovely  ?  Mrs.  Rose  wants  me  to  go  to  her  Thanksgiving 
house  party.  Her  son,  that's  Arthur,  and  the  girl, 
Lucia,  are  going  to  have  a  lot  of  friends  at  Hastings-on- 
Hudson!  Oh,  I  think  she's  a  darling  to  want  me. 
And  here's  my  ticket  and  all — my  made-over  gray  dress, 
and  my  lace  dress — doesn't  it  just  seem  as  if  my  clothes 
were  made  for  this  special  thing?  And  she  signs  it: 
'Your  friend,  Abby  Carnaby  Rose';  I  think  Carnaby's 
a  stunning  name— = —  " 

Thus  Ellen,  stuttering  and  stumbling  in  her  joy 
and  excitement,  and  all  the  while  automatically  assist 
ing  in  the  process  of  "dishing  up."  She  took  the  glass- 
towel  her  aunt  handed  her,  tucked  the  precious  lettef 
into  her  blouse,  engineered  the  bubbling  dish  of  corn  to  a 
cold  plate,  decorated  a  platter  of  stew  with  puffy  dump 
lings,  and  finally  bore  the  latter  in  to  the  dining  room. 
Mrs.  Baldwin  followed  with  a  glazed  brown  tea  pot 
and  other  delicacies.  Ellen  had  to  rush  back  for  a  second 
load,  rush  back  a  third  time  to  hang  up  her  tea-towel; 
finally  a  jerk  of  her  foot  brought  her  chair  to  the  table, 
and  Joe,  entering  through  the  kitchen,  placed  his  grand 
father's  chair,  and  gave  the  stiff  old  man  a  helping  hand. 

The  little  room,  filled  with  useless  possessions  of 
every  description,  was  already  warm  from  the  stove, 
now  the  steam  from  cooked  meat  and  strong  tea  rose 
in  the  air.  They  were  all  hungry,  and  ate  fast.  Ellen 
propped  her  letter  against  the  tea  pot,  and  regaled  her 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  15 

family  upon  the  delights  of  winter  house  parties  among 
the  upper  classes;  Joe  listened  with  a  grin;  the  old 
Captain  drank  his  tea  noisily  from  his  saucer,  and 
removed  from  his  mouth  portions  of  the  stew  too  hard 
for  mastication.  Mrs.  Baldwin,  who  had  been  a  baby 
in  his  arms  fifty  years  before,  a  dutiful  little  daughter, 
an  admiring  comrade,  was  his  mother  now.  She 
crushed  the  hard  crusts  of  his  toast,  and  over-sweetened 
his  tea,  and  saw  that  he  had  plenty  of  soft  food.  Now 
and  then  she  told  him  bits  of  village  gossip;  that  Cap 
tain  Johnny  wasn't  so  well,  and  she  shouldn't  wonder  if 
the  Robbinses  moved  down  to  the  Cherry  Place.  He 
could  no  more  offend  her  than  might  a  baby  of  two 
years.  Joe's  own  conduct  at  the  table  was  almost 
equally  open  to  criticism,  and  Ellen  was  too  used  to  her 
grandfather  to  suffer  from  his  manner,  so  that  great 
harmony  reigned  in  the  house  on  Main  Street.  Ellen 
had  had  her  times  of  objecting  to  the  country  custom 
of  putting  the  dessert  on  the  table  with  the  dinner,  and 
to  the  little  old-fashioned  butter-plates,  but  her  aunt, 
after  an  intensely  practical  life,  had  small  patience 
with  these  affectations,  and  the  girl's  ideas  of  gentility 
were  too  vague,  even  in  her  own  mind,  to  make  much 
impression.  To-night  she  saw  nothing  and  heard  noth 
ing;  she  was  going  to  visit  at  a  fashionable  country 

house;  she  was  beginning  to  live! 

i 

There  were  difficulties  to  be  met,  of  course.  The 
first  was  the  surprising  resentment  of  Aunt  Elsie. 
Thanksgiving  was  a  home  day.  Aunt  Elsie  didn't 
like  the  idea  of  Ellen  going  off  with  a  lot  of  godless 
people;  dancing,  as  likely  as  not,  getting  her  head  full 
of  crack-brained  ideas 


16  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"Well,  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  old-fashioned  Thanks 
giving!"  Ellen  answered,  trying  not  to  sound  im 
pertinent.  "We  all  eat  too  much,  and  the  house  gets 
too  hot,  and  you're  working  for  three  days  baking  and 
fussing!" 

She  did  not  dream  that  she  struck  to  her  aunt's 
heart.  The  national  holiday  was  a  sacred  institution 
to  Mrs.  Baldwin.  The  turkey  and  mince  pies  were 
on  her  mind  for  many  happy,  bustling  days.  She 
always  had  Cousin  Tom  and  Ella  and  their  two — or 
three,  or  four — babies,  over  from  Roslyn  for  the  whole 
day,  and  she  liked  them  to  praise  her  food.  She  liked 
to  have  both  the  air-tight  stoves  red  hot,  and  Ella, 
thin  and  radiant,  gossiping  at  the  end  of  her  kitchen 
table  while  the  babies  napped.  And  now  Ellen — Ellen 
was  disparaging  Thanksgiving! 

The  two  were  in  Ellen's  bedroom  when  this  conver 
sation  took  place,  and  Mrs.  Baldwin  turned  and  went 
downstairs  without  a  word.  Ellen  stood  still,  in  the 
centre  of  the  ice-cold  room,  her  face  flushed  with 
shame,  the  gaudy  patchwork' quilt  she  was  about  to 
spread  over  her  newly  made  bed  hanging  from  her 
hands.  Outside  the  sun  was  shining  on  the  first  heavy 
fall  of  snow,  boys  were  sliding  down  Main  Street  with 
wild  shrieks.  The  trolley  car  grated  by,  and  Ellen 
saw  Joe  flounder  down  the  snowy  path  and  begin  to 
shovel  snow  from  about  the  blocked  gate.  His  aunt, 
her  checked  apron  over  her  head,  called  him  from  the 
steps;  she  had  his  thick  woollen  gloves,  and  also  some 
thing  edible  that  Joe  was  munching  as  he  shuffled 
back  to  his  work. 

Ellen's  heart  smote  her.  They  would  miss  her  on 
Thanksgiving  Day.  But  what  could  she  do?  Noth- 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  17 

ing  in  life  seemed  so  important  as  Mrs.  Rose's  wonder 
ful  invitation. 

When  she  went  downstairs,  there  was  a  decided  chill 
in  her  aunt's  attitude.  Mrs.  Baldwin  was  reading 
from  the  paper  a  sheriff's  vendue  notice  that  was 
printed  too  finely  for  the  old  Captain's  glasses  to 
decipher,  and  he  was  listening  with  his  white  head 
cocked  like  a  spaniel's.  It  was  Sunday,  and  the  older 
woman  was  neatly  dressed  for  church.  She  enjoyed 
church,  and  would  come  home  at  half-past  twelve  rosy 
from  the  cold  air,  and  full  of  kindly  gossip.  She 
would  walk  down  to  the  post-office  for  the  mail,  too; 
there  was  rarely  any  mail,  but  all  the  world  of  Port 
Washington  would  be  there. 

The  house  was  still.  Captain  Latimer  pushed  his 
glasses  up  on  his  forehead,  and  went  to  sleep.  The 
canary  burst  into  song;  fell  silent  again.  Out  in  the 
spotlessly  clean  kitchen  the  clock  ticked  and  ticked. 
Ellen  would  have  liked  to  sew  on  her  fancy-work,  but 
her  aunt  would  not  let  her  sew  on  Sunday.  So  she 
began  to  read.  She  felt  guilty.  She  wished  that  she 
were  heroic  enough  to  give  up  the  Rose  week-end,  and 
stay  here  and  help  Aunt  Elsie  through  Thanksgiving. 

Mrs.  Baldwin  brought  back  one  letter,  after  all.  It 
was  from  Mrs.  Rose,  for  Ellen.  It  said  that  Mrs. 
Rose  was  delighted  that  Ellen  could  be  with  them,  and 
that  she  would  expect  her  on  the  two  o'clock  train  from 
New  York — on  Friday!  So  that  Ellen  would  have 
Thanksgiving  at  home,  after  all. 

"Well,  I  guess  you're  not  too  good  for  some  white 
meat  and  fixings,  party  or  no  party!"  Mrs.  Baldwin 
said  drily.  Ellen  could  find  nothing  to  say. 

The    question    of    clothes    remained.     Even    when 


18  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

Ellen  had  run  fresh  ribbons  into  her  best  underwear, 
and  had  washed  her  one  pair  of  silk  stockings,  and  had 
pressed  the  cheap  yet  dainty  lace  gown,  and  basted 
fresh  frills  into  the  neck  and  cuffs  of  the  made-over 
gray  velvet;  even  then  she  felt  some  misgivings.  She 
had  the  dresses,  but  what  about  all  the  accessories? 
She  did  not  even  know  what  they  were;  much  less  did 
she  own  them.  Combs,  pins,  hair-ornaments,  scarfs, 
and  belts  flitted  uneasily  through  her  dreams.  She 
woke,  in  the  cold  winter  mornings,  filled  with  wretched 
doubts.  But  at  night,  when  her  lamp,  and  the  stove 
in  the  hall  downstairs,  had  somewhat  warmed  her 
room,  she  sat  at  her  mirror,  and  looked  at  the  lovely 
vision  of  rosy  cheeks  and  shy  eyes  and  loosened  black 
hair;  and  the  red  lips  would  curve  in  spite  of  themselves 
into  a  confident  smile. 

Might  she  be  the  belle  of  the  whole  party?  .  .  . 
might  they  all  admire  her?  Might  it  be  a  glorious 
triumph  for  the  newcomer,  the  beginning  of  wonderful 
things.  Ellen  would  jump  between  the  cold,  heavy 
sheets  with  a  smile  still  in  her  eyes,  and  go  off  to  dreams 
of  glory. 


CHAPTER  II 

ALL  the  way  up  in  the  train  she  was  busy  identifying 
the  various  groups  about  her,  as  either  being  bound 
for  the  Rose  house  party,  or  being  unworthy  of  that 
classification.  Ellen  was  so  excited  by  this  time  that 
she  could  not  breathe  naturally;  her  cheeks  were 
blazing,  and  her  heart  beat  fast.  With  her  little 
new  suitcase — it  was  Joe's,  and  she  had  given  it  to  him 
on  his  birthday  a  few  weeks  before — she  got  down 
from  the  train  in  a  sort  of  joyous  panic  of  expectation. 
The  Roses's  chauffeur  made  himself  known,  and  Ellen,  a 
gray-haired,  elderly  man,  and  an  exceptionally  hand 
some  and  self-possessed  young  woman,  all  got  into  the 
limousine.  The  two  bags  that  were  now  associated 
with  Ellen's  bag  were  the  finest  of  their  kind,  and  were 
plastered  with  the  labels  of  European  hotels.  Ellen 
imagined  the  pair  to  be  father  and  daughter,  and 
thought  it  would  be  romantic  to  be  rich,  and  travel 
abroad  with  an  adoring  father. 

The  lady  looked  at  her  amiably  enough,  but  did  not 
speak.  Long  afterward  Ellen  realized  the  absurdity  of 
their  two-mile  drive  in  silence;  the  other  two  occa 
sionally  murmuring  a  comment  upon  the  scenery,  and 
smiling  vaguely  when  their  eyes  encountered  Ellen. 
Presently  they  turned  in  at  a  snow-powdered  gate 
and  could  see  a  splendid  stone  mansion,  lying  along  a 
hillside  draped  in  bare  vines,  but  with  heartening  smoke 
arising  from  a  dozen  chimneys. 

10 


20  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"Isn't  that  a  lovely  house!"  Ellen  said  shyly  then, 
and  the  old  man  nodded  smilingly,  while  the  lady  said 
with  a  sort  of  languid  sweetness : 

"Isn't  it,  though!     I've  never  seen  it  before." 

"Nor  I,"  Ellen  said  eagerly,  glad  not  to  be  the  only 
stranger. 

"I  designed  it  for  them,"  the  old  man  said  casually,  and 
the  lady  said,  "Oh,  did  you,  dearest  ?  You  smart  boy!" 

This  did  not  sound  exactly  daughterly.  Ellen  was 
puzzling  over  their  relationship  as  they  all  went  up 
the  stone  steps,  and  were  admitted  to  an  enormous 
warm  hall,  where  fires  and  tables  and  rich  rugs  and 
great  bowls  of  flowers  all  were  jumbled  together  before 
her  confused  senses.  Here  was  Mrs.  Rose,  magnificent 
and  distrait,  murmuring  that  the  children  were  about 
somewhere,  perhaps  they  had  gone  out,  giving  a  maid 
directions  in  an  aside,  and  looking  a  little  blankly  at 
Ellen  until  the  girl  reminded  her  brightly:  "It's 
Ellen  Latimer!" 

"Well,  of  course  it  is,  you  dear  child,"  she  said  then, 
with  a  warming  kiss,  "and  you  came  up  in  the  car  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Josselyn.  Tom,  this  is  a  little  friend  of 
mine,  Miss  Latimer;  and  this  is  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Josselyn, 
Ellen.  I  hope  you  all  talked  to  each  other?" 

Ellen  was  just  going  to  say,  "We  weren't  introduced," 
but  the  young  and  beautiful  Mrs.  Josselyn  spoke  first, 
with  a  sort  of  pretty  langour,  "I  always  talk,  on  all 
occasions!"  and  then  they  all  laughed.  Ellen  knew, 
suddenly,  that  the  two  women  did  not  know  each 
other  very  well,  and  that  the  man  was  quite  at  home 
in  this  house. 

"Where'd  you  put  us,  Abby?"  he  asked.  "Don't 
come  up;  I  know  my  way  about." 


JOSSELYN'S  WIIu  21 

"I've  got  to  go  up,"  Mrs.  Rose  said,  interrupting  a 
low-toned  conversation  she  was  having  with  an  elderly 
maid.  "I  declare,"  she  went  on,  mounting  a  dark, 
carved  stairway  that  was  spread  with  rugs,  ornamented 
with  potted  palms,  and  lighted  with  a  stained-glass 
window,  "I  declare,  I  get  perfectly  frantic  sometimes, 
when  the  children  have  these  affairs.  Arthur  brought 
down  four  boys  from  Harvard  on  Wednesday,  and 
Lucia — presumably  not  out  yet,  if  you  please! — all  I 
can  say  is,  that  I  don't  expect  to  live  through  it  until 
she  is  out! — and  it's  rush  to  this,  and  rush  to  that — I 
don't  know  what  they're  doing  now 

Ellen  perceived  that  the  matron  was  really  deeply 
enjoying  the  responsibility  and  confusion,  and  the 
strain  on  meals  and  beds.  They  were  upstairs  now, 
and  had  left  the  Josselyns  at  the  door  of  a  delightful 
room. 

"Which  explains,"  said  Mrs.  Rose,  "why  I've  tucked 
you  in  here,  on  a  couch  in  my  sewing-room,  my  dear. 
'Lucia  should  have  moved  in  here,  but  she  has  three  girls 
with  her,  and  they  all  had  to  be  together,  of  course. 
Girls  do  have  the  best  times,  nowadays!  Or  these  girls 
do.  Just  one  good  time  after  another!  Now  you're 
in  here,  and  you  see  you  use  my  bath.  You  needn't 
hesitate  to  come  in  and  out,  for  Mr.  Rose  is  up  at 
Great  Barrington,  for  the  golf.  It's  the  sewing-room, 
but  I  had  Pauline  clear  it  out ' 

"It's  lovely,"  Ellen  smiled.  "It's  a  perfectly  won 
derful  house,"  she  added  bashfully. 

"It's  comfortable,"  Mrs.  Rose  said  carelessly. 
"Josselyn  did  it."  And  with  a  sudden  twinkle  she 
added:  "How  did  you  like  the  bride  and  groom?" 

"I  thought  they  were  father  and  daughter!" 


22  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"Everyone  does.  I've  known  Tom  Josselyn  all  my 
life,  we  knew  his  first  wife  well.  She  only  died  a  year 
ago,  and  ten  months  later  he  married  this — Lillian 
Keeler.  Nobody  knows  anything  about  her.  Doris 
Potter — you'll  meet  her  to-night — says  that  she  was 
a  model  for  Madame  Yvonne,  but  I  don't  believe  it. 
Young  Gibbs  Josselyn,  the  son — one  of  the  dearest 
fellows  that  ever  lived — has  never  gotten  over  it. 
Tom  Josselyn  is  sixty-five,  you  know,  and  she's  twenty- 
eight.  He  broke  with  his  father  the  day  he  heard  the 
news,  hasn't  seen  him  since.  He  was  in  the  firm,  too, 
I  guess  the  old  man  felt  it  pretty  much.  Now  I  hear 
that  Gibbs  is  going  to  study  painting — he's  a  gifted 
fellow.  .  .  .  Well!  now  I'll  leave  you.  Brush  up 
a  little,  and  then  come  down  and  have  tea.  There's 
nothing  to-night;  I  believe  the  boys  have  got  a  moving 
picture  machine  and  they're  going  to  try  it  in  the  ball 
room,  but  I'm  not  having  a  dinner,  really." 

It  was  just  like  an  English  house  party  in  a  novel. 
Ellen  smoothed  her  hair,  and  put  on  the  gray  velvet 
dress  with  the  fresh  frills,  and  went  down  to  the  library 
in  a  tremor  of  happiness.  She  was  early,  and  had 
time  to  enjoy  a  book  of  photographs  and  a  fire  before 
her  hostess  came  down.  Then  the  Josselyns  came,  and 
an  old  aunt  of  Mrs.  Rose,  and  two  friends  of  the  aunt, 
paying  a  tea-call.  Ellen  was  much  the  youngest,  and 
Mrs.  Rose  enchanted  her  by  letting  her  pass  sand 
wiches  and  toast,  and  bring  back  the  cups  for  more  tea. 
It  was  a  wonderful  hour.  Ellen  glowed,  and  even 
chattered,  and  they  all  enjoyed  her. 

She  was  able  to  see  now  how  really  beautiful  young 
Mrs.  Josselyn  was.  The  bride  sat  a  little  apart  from 
the  others,  with  her  splendid  brown  eyes  on  the  fire, 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  23 

and  her  beautiful  body  stretched  at  ease  in  a  great  chair. 
Her  golden  brown  hair  was  wound  carelessly  in  glorious 
waves  and  coils  above  her  white  forehead,  and  her 
white  hand,  heavily  ringed,  lay  against  the  dark  wood 
of  the  chair-arm  with  all  the  pure  beauty  of  alabaster. 
She  sometimes  raised  her  glittering  eye-lashes,  brown 
eye-lashes  with  a  hint  of  gold  in  them,  to  smile  lazily 
at  her  husband,  but  for  the  most  part  she  was  inert, 
making  no  effort  to  be  more  than  a  lovely  picture. 

Mrs.  Rose  asked  her  about  Paris,  and  she  answered 
casually.  Ellen  did  not  know  that  she  was  trying  to 
make  the  older  woman  think  that  travel,  wealth,  and 
the  free  purchase  of  gowns  and  jewels  were  but  an 
ordinary  part  of  the  day's  work  to  Lillian  Keeler,  She 
did  not  know  that  Mrs.  Rose  was  trying  to  find  out 
several  much-discussed  facts  about  the  bride.  Pro 
fessor  and  Mrs.  Keeler  of  Milton  were  not  relatives 
of  Mrs.  Josselyn,  were  they?  Mrs.  Josselyn  smiled 
at  the  fire,  and  contented  herself  with  a  single  negative 
monosyllable.  But  Ellen  was  deeply  interested  and 
even  thrilled  by  their  talk.  Her  loyalty  and  affection 
were  bound  to  Mrs.  Rose;  she  decided  that  young  Mrs. 
Josselyn  was  not  a  gentlewoman.  All  those  blazing 
jewels  at  informal  tea!  Just  above  the  mantel  was  a 
superb  portrait  of  Mrs.  Rose,  painted  when  she  was  in 
deep  mourning  for  her  first  husband,  with  little  Arthur 
and  the  younger  Lucia  at  her  knee.  About  the  hand 
some  widow's  neck  was  a  splendid  string  of  pearls;  her 
kindly  eyes  smiled  down  at  Ellen,  and  Ellen  smiled  back. 
The  girl  did  not  question  the  wearer  of  the  pearls, 
nor  the  propriety  of  this  picture's  position  in  Edward 
Sewall  Rose's  house.  The  Queen  could  do  no  wrong. 

A  great  grandfather's  clock  in  the  dimness  of  the  room 


24  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

boomed  half-past  five.     And  with  a  cold  and  joyous 
rush,  the  youngsters  came  in  for  their  tea. 

That  was  Ellen  Latimer's  last  happy  minute  in  the 
Rose  house.  The  little  velvet  dress  did  not  fall  from 
her  as  the  clock  struck,  but  she  would  have  been  hap 
pier  running  away  from  them  all  into  the  night,  bare  of 
feet  and  hair,  and  in  her  shabbiest  kitchen  dress,  than 
she  was  to  be  here,  in  all  their  luxury  and  warmth. 

They  were  introduced,  and  they  nodded,  flinging 
furs  and  wraps  into  the  arms  of  silent,  patient,  waiting 
maids.  Ellen  marvelled  at  their  sports-clothes,  the 
soft  Swiss  coats,  the  smart,  shaggy  little  caps,  the  velvet 
skirts  with  their  big  buttons,  the  silk  blouses  so  im 
maculately  white.  Lucia  was  not  pretty,  but  how 
smart  she  was,  and  how  she  chattered!  Doris  was 
pretty,  and  everything  else  that  Ellen  would  have  liked 
to  be  as  well.  The  five  boys  were  all  quite  young, 
fresh-faced,  well-groomed,  superficially  poised  in  spite 
of  their  youthful  clumsiness.  There  were  nine  of  them, 
altogether.  They  talked  only  to  each  other,  in  a  sort 
of  running  fire  of  growling  and  tittering  and  laughing. 
It  was  impossible  for  an  outsider  to  follow  their  con 
versation,  and  even  when  the  older  people  had  drifted 
away,  and  Ellen  was  left  with  them,  they  made  no 
concessions  for  her. 

She  was  in  a  chair,  in  the  very  centre  of  the  group. 
So  much  was  an  advantage.  And  she  had  had  her  tea, 
so  that  their  rather  obvious  indifference  to  her  comfort 
had  some  excuse.  But  she  was  miserably  unhappy. 

"You're  on  my  foot,  Larry!" 

"Get  off  her  foot — get  off  her  foot!" 

"Is  no  girl  safe?" 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  25 

"Listen,  do  any  of  you  want  anything?  Mother 
said  you  gents  could  have  cocktails — tell  him  to  bring 
some  cocktails,  Art." 

"Then  I'll  wait.  Red's  going  to  give  me  half  of  his, 
aren't  you,  Red?" 

"Curses  on  this  snow,  I  thought  you  said  we  could 
play  golf  all  Saturday!" 

"Betty,  you  know  what  I  told  you  this  morning? 
Well,  it's  true.  Isn't  it,  Red?" 

"About ?" 

"About — you    know." 

"Doris  said  it  was,  anyway." 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  calling  me  anything  but 
Miss  Potter,  Mr.  Everett." 

"Oh,  didn't  you,  Snooky-ookums  ?  What  would  ums 
yike  me  to  call  it  ? " 

"Oh,  Red,  don't  be  so  sickening!" 

"Listen,  girls,  we  want  to  know  about  this  German 
to-morrow  night.  Who's  going  to  have  it  with  who? 
I  hate  Germans,  Lucia.  Let's  cut  out  the  German — 

"What  are  you  whispering  about,  Dorothy?" 

"Lean  over  here  and  I'll  tell  you!" 

There  was  a  contagious  ripple  of  laughter,  some 
whispering  and  monosyllables.  Ellen  turned  to  the 
youth  who  was  slowly  sipping  a  cocktail  next  to  her 
and  said,  uncertainly: 

"Will  you  have  a  sandwich — oh,  you  have  one?" 

He  looked  at  her  vaguely,  and  leaning  to  the  girl  who 
Was  sitting  on  the  floor  at  his  knee  he  said  earnestly: 

"Say,  listen,  Dorothy.  I  meant  what  I  said  about 
the  seventh  hole.  If  he  said  he  did  it  in  that,  he  lied. 
It  can't  be  done.  Kidder  himself  takes  three  to  it, 
and  is  it  likely  that  that  boob  could  cut  it  down?  Now 


26  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

listen,  I  suppose  the  links  '11  be  closed  up  for  awhile. 
But  if  we  come  down  here  Christmas — my  mother 
is  in  Paris,  so  if  Arthur's  mother  asks  us  we'll  probably 

come — I'd  like  to  take  that  feller  up  there " 

Ellen's  face  burned.     She  did  not  speak  again 

Oh,  what  a  fool  she  was  to  come  here  at  all,  she 
thought,  undressing  late  that  night.  And  how  she 
hated  them  all!  They  felt  her  unwelcome,  and  shabby, 
and  different,  and  the  bitter  thing  was  that  Ellen 
knew  that  they  were  right.  She  could  not  speak  their 
language,  nor  understand  them  when  they  spoke;  her 
little  attempts  at  merriment  fell  flat,  her  best  gown 
was  not  as  smart  as  their  simplest  sporting  outfit.  She 
had  gone  downstairs  timidly,  in  the  fussy  little  lace 
dress,  to  have  them  presently  follow  in  their  exquisite 
simplicities  of  sheer  linen  and  lawn,  with  girlish  touches 
of  pink  baby  roses  or  childish  wide  Roman  sashes, 
plain  silk  stockings,  plainly  dressed  little  satiny  heads, 
with  jewelled  pins  tucked  trimly  against  the  coils  and 
plaits.  How  fresh,  how  virginal,  they  were;  school 
girls  just  on  the  threshold  of  womanhood,  seventeen, 
eighteen,  nineteen!  Ellen's  twenty-two  years  seemed 
suddenly  grimy  and  gray.  A  sense  of  injustice  seized 
her.  She  had  never  been  as  young  and  sweet  and  con 
fident  as  they  were ! 

They  were  all  in  love  with  life,  and  with  each  other; 
it  was  a  pity  that  they  could  not  spare  a  little  love  for 
Ellen,  too.  But  Dorothy  complimented  Lucia,  and 
Lucia,  Doris,  and  Doris  in  turn  told  Mary  that  she 
looked  adorable.  No  one  of  them  gave  to  Ellen  the 
word  for  which  she  hungered,  or,  better  than  praise, 
made  the  slightest  effort  to  bring  her  into  the  group, 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  27 

gave  her  any  reason  to  believe  that  with  eyes  like 
hers,  and  cheeks  like  hers,  the  lace  gown  mattered  not 
at  all. 

The  elaborate  dinner  was  served,  the  moving-pictures 
finally  brought  to  triumphant  finish,  and  the  young 
people  began  to  dance.  Then  Ellen  slipped  upstairs, 
equally  unable  to  review  the  events  of  the  day,  or  to 
anticipate  those  of  to-morrow,  with  any  equanimity. 
There  would  be  a  big  dance  to-morrow  night,  and  a 
ride  to  the  "Red  Lion"  for  lunch.  Ellen  did  not  ride. 
Well,  she  would  go  with  old  Mr.  Josselyn  and  Mrs. 
Rose  in  the  closed  car.  Unless  she  had  a  wire  from 
Aunt  Elsie  saying  that  Grandpa  was  dead — ah,  if 
only  she  might ! 

But  Grandpa  was  far  from  death,  and  Saturday  had 
to  be  endured.  It  was  all  worse  than  Ellen's  fears. 
Mrs.  Rose  was  not  going  on  the  ride,  after  all,  she  and 
the  aunt  and  the  Josselyns  were  going  to  play  bridge. 
Lucia  unbent  from  her  indifference  long  enough  to  urge 
Ellen  to  try  to  ride.  But  Ellen,  although  she  was 
eager  to  dare  it,  did  not  like  to  risk  the  danger  of  making 
herself  absurd  on  a  horse.  Afterward,  she  never  quite 
forgave  herself  her  cowardice.  Better  to  chance  it, 
better  to  be  thrown,  be  maimed  for  life,  than  to  do  what 
she  did. 

There  was  another  choice,  but  that,  too,  Ellen  did 
not  see  until  long  afterward.  She  might  simply  have 
pleaded  indisposition,  have  begged  to  be  left  quietly  at 
home,  and  so  have  watched  the  bridge,  which  inter 
ested  her,  and  have  had  another  pleasant  tea-hour. 

But  instead  she  let  Lucia  separate  herself  from  her 
friends  to  drive  the  funny  girl  from  Long  Island  in  a 
small  roadster.  The  roads  were  heavy*  but  Ellen  knew 


28  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

nothing  of  cars,  and  did  not  know  that  really  difficult 
driving  was  angering  the  already  exasperated  Lucia. 
For  perhaps  fifteen  minutes  out  of  the  long  two  hours 
the  girls  talked  naturally,  and  then  it  chanced  to  be 
about  the  Josselyns.  Lucia  spoke  of  the  new  wife 
contemptuously,  and  Ellen  asked  her  if  she  knew  the 
son. 

Knew  Gibbs?  Indeed  she  did.  Lucia's  pretty 
colour  rose  as  she  spoke.  Gibbs  was — well,  he  had  al 
ways  been  like  her  brother,  don't  you  know?  He  had 
given  her  the  odd  topaz  ring  she  wore.  And  now  the 
girls  were  teasing  her  about  Gibbs,  which  was  per 
fectly  absurd.  Of  course  she  adored  Gibbs,  but  he 
was  thirty  at  least,  or  thirty-one — and  somehow  she 
didn't  want  to  think  of  those  things  at  all,  yet. 

Ellen,  in  her  simplicity,  believed  her,  and  although 
she  had  never  seen  Thomas  Gibbs  Josselyn,  Junior,  a 
faint  pang  of  something  like  envy  stirred  at  her  heart. 
Lucia  had  everything. 

They  reached  the  "Red  Lion"  an  hour  after  the 
others,  and  immediately  had  a  large  and  noisy  lunch 
in  a  sort  of  club  lunchroom,  with  stags'  antlers  and 
bearskins,  a  roaring  open  fire,  and  exposed  rafters  of 
dark  wood  to  give  a  rustic  effect.  After  lunch  skis 
were  brought  out,  and  Ellen  was  dragged  several  cold 
miles  on  a  sort  of  combination  walk,  scramble,  slide,  and 
skate.  The  boy  called  "Red"  drove  her  silently  home; 
he  had  had  a  good  many  cocktails  before  and  after  the 
walk,  and  drove  recklessly. 

They  got  home  none  too  early  to  dress  for  the  dance, 
an  experience  that  Ellen  never  forgot.  The  young 
guests  in  the  house  had  been  indifferent  to  her  yester 
day;  to-day  they  actively  disliked  her,  and  she  afforded 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  29 

them  delicious  material  for  laughter.  Mrs.  Rose  was 
again  playing  bridge  after  dinner,  but  Ellen  could  not 
watch  the  game  now,  for  her  hostess  felt  the  social 
responsibility,  and  would  chill  Ellen  to  the  soul  by 
saying:  "Wait  until  I'm  dummy,  dear,  and  I'll  find  you 
someone  to  dance  with." 

So  Ellen  kept  away  from  the  card  room,  and  loitered 
about  miserably.  No  one  asked  her  to  dance,  she 
might  have  been  an  invisible  witness  to  the  gaiety,  as 
she  heartily  wished  herself,  for  any  attention  that  was 
offered  her.  The  girls,  perfumed,  powdered,  laughing, 
pushed  by  her  without  a  glance,  and  the  boys,  gathering 
eagerry  about  them,  saw  her  as  little.  She  went  into 
the  room  where  two  maids  were  murmuring  together 
between  pyramids  of  cloaks  and  furs,  but  even  these 
minced  monosyllabic  answers  to  her  timid  observa 
tions,  and  stared  after  her  as  if  she  had  been  a  strange 
animal. 

The  aunt  had  gone  to  bed  now,  and  the  bridge  table 
was  completed  by  a  relative  of  Mrs.  Rose,  a  retired 
army  officer  who  was  quite  deaf.  At  twenty  minutes  to 
one  Ellen  found  herself  watching  the  game;  Mrs.  Rose 
made  no  attempt  to  get  her  into  the  dancing  now,  the 
matron's  face  was  flushed,  and  she  seemed  excited. 
She  was  playing  with  Mr.  Josselyn,  and  it  was  evident 
that  the  luck  was  running  against  them. 

"You  don't  bid  them  when  you  have  them,  Tommy!'* 
the  bride  said  lazily,  scoring  a  fourth  consecutive  rub 
ber  for  herself  and  partner.  The  old  man  only  gave 
his  wife  an  indulgent  look.  But  Mrs.  Rose  said  with 
some  acerbity: 

"There's  no  bidding  hands  like  these!  I  declare  I 
never  saw  anything  like  it!" 


SO  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"I  suppose  we  can't  start  another — we  said  we 
would  stop  at  one,"  young  Mrs.  Josselyn  smiled. 
Ellen  saw  Mrs.  Rose  give  her  a  venomous  look  as  the 
jewelled  hands  tumbled  the  cards  idly,  and  the  army 
man  earnestly  and  quickly  added  the  various  scores. 

"I  owe  you  seventeen  and  Captain  James  nine,'* 
said  Mrs.  Rose.  "Now  come,  everybody,  and  have 
something  to  eat.  I'm  starving." 

"Nothing  for  me  at  this  hour!"  Mrs.  Josselyn  said 
lightly,  "I  shouldn't  have  a  complexion  or  a  figure  for 
a  week!"  The  inference  was  plain. 

"And  I'm  going  upstairs,  now,"  Ellen  put  in  shyly. 
"I  am — a  sort  of  a  headache — I  think  I'd  really  better! 
And  Mrs.  Rose,  will  you  tell  me  about  trains  to 
morrow? — I  think  I  had  better — Aunt  Elsie  expects 
me 

She  had  nerved  herself  for  opposition,  but  Mrs. 
Rose  made  none. 

"I'm  sorry  you  can't  stay,"  she  said,  fighting  a  deep 
yawn,  "'Scuse  me,  everybody,  but  cards  always  make 
me  so  sleepy !  They're  all  going  over  to  Dorothy's  to 
morrow,  I  think.  Better  stay  and  have  a  little  more 
good  time.  Auntie  will  forgive  you!  Anyway,  come 
down  and  have  some  supper  now!" 

But  Ellen  murmured  of  her  headache  again.  She 
would  not  face  that  hilarious  supper  room;  or  appear 
under  her  hostess's  wing,  as  one  unable  to  make  her 
own  way.  She  slipped  upstairs. 

And  once  in  the  safety  of  her  own  room,  she  began 
to  undress  automatically,  with  scarlet  cheeks  and  a 
heaving  breast.  They  had  been  rude  to  her,  they  had 
been  rude  to  her!  She  had  only  wanted  to  be  inno- 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  31 

cently  happy,  she  had  only  asked  that  they  be  reason 
ably  kind,  and  they  had  turned  her  world  upside  down, 
and  scarred  the  old  happy  confidence  forever! 

In  Mrs.  Rose's  room,  beyond  the  bathroom,  a  fire 
was  burning,  and  Ellen  went  in  to  it,  and  sat  down  be 
fore  the  steady  glow  of  the  bed  of  coals.  It  was  an  old- 
fashioned  steel-rodded  grate,  the  furnishings  of  the 
entire  room  were  old-fashioned.  Mrs.  Rose's  ideals 
in  furnishing  had  stopped  short  with  the  period  of  her 
first  marriage,  nothing  to  her  would  ever  be  so  beauti 
ful  as  solid  brass  beds  and  furniture  of  polished  maple. 
A  table  loaded  with  handsome  objects  was  pushed 
against  the  broad  foot  of  the  bed,  and  every  chest  and 
bureau  and  bookstand  was  filled  with  expensive  things, 
boxes  and  frames  and  lamps  and  small  statues  and 
trays.  These  were  all  dusted  by  the  maids  every  day 
and  put  carefully  back  in  their  places.  The  maids 
lifted  the  satin  runners  from  the  tables,  and  the  rich 
lace  strips  that  lay  over  the  satin,  and  shook  all  the 
silk  cushions  on  the  big  couches  every  day,  too.  To 
night  there  were  several  enormous  pots  of  flowers  in 
the  room,  presents  that  had  been  sent  Mrs.  Rose  for 
Thanksgiving:  two  poinsettias,  a  begonia,  and  a  large 
fern.  The  cards  from  the  senders  still  dangled  among 
the  foliage,  and  stiff"  ruffs  of  crepe  paper  were  pinned 
about  the  clay  pots.  In  a  day  or  two  the  plants 
would  droop  in  the  hot  air,  and  then  Maurice  would 
be  called  in  to  carry  them  out,  and  fling  them,  cards, 
tissue-paper,  and  all,  into  the  rubbish  heap  near  the 
furnace. 

Ellen,  huddled  in  her  wrapper,  was  dreaming  over 
the  coals,  when  the  door  was  pushed  open,  and  she 
turned  with  a  smile,  expecting  to  see  her  hostess. 


<&  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

But  it  was  young  Mrs.  Josselyn  who  came  in,  wrap 
ped  in  a  splendid  Oriental  robe,  and  with  her  thick,  soft 
brown  hair  hanging  in  a  loose  coil  between  her  shoulders. 

"I  saw  the  door  open,"  said  she,  dropping  into  the 
chair  opposite  Ellen.  "I'm  tired  to  death,  but  I  don't 
feel  like  going  to  bed!" 

She  stretched  her  slippered  feet  to  the  blaze,  locked 
her  hands  behind  her  head,  and  yawned,  as  unself-con- 
scious  as  a  cat.  Ellen  studied  the  lovely  white  arms, 
the  smooth  low  forehead  from  which  the  hair  was 
swept,  the  dropped  bronze  eye-lashes.  She  dared  not 
open  a  conversation,  and  risk  another  snub. 

"Danced  yourself  tired?"  asked  Mrs.  Josselyn  in 
differently,  after  awhile. 

"I  didn't  dance,"  Ellen  answered,  smiling  as  if  the 
fact  were  entirely  insignificant.  But  her  tone  was 
hurt  in  spite  of  herself.  "I  don't  know  them,"  she 
added,  her  voice  thickening,  "and  this  is  my  first 
visit  here — we  took  a  long  trip  to-day,  too — I  really 
didn't  want  to  go — and  I  got  tired—  She  stopped 

short. 

,  Mrs.  Josselyn  elevated  her  delicate  eyebrows  in 
entire  comprehension,  pursed  her  lips,  and  looked 
thoughtfully  at  the  fire. 

"What'd  you  go  for,  then?"  she  asked,  presently. 

"Well,  I  felt  I  had  to!"  Ellen  answered  lamely. 
The  other  woman  took  a  framed  picture  from  the 
table,  studied  it  for  a  few  minutes,  and  again  moved 
her  eyes  slowly  to  Ellen. 

"So  you've  been  having  a  perfectly  rotten  time?" 

Ellen  laughed  nervously. 

"Why,  no,  I  couldn't  say  that!" 

"I  suspected  it,  the  way  you  hung  around  the  card- 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  33 

table,"  said  young  Mrs.  Josselyn,  frankly.  She  ex 
tended  the  picture  she  held  to  Ellen.  "Know  him?" 
she  asked  briefly. 

Ellen  shook  her  head.  She  looked  at  the  face  of  a 
young  man,  thin,  earnest  of  mouth  and  jaw,  keen  of 
eye.  Even  in  the  picture  she  could  see  that  the  thick 
crest  of  hair  was  gray,  and  even  in  the  picture  the 
handsome  face  showed  character  and  power.  At  one 
corner,  in  a  small  square  hand,  was  written:  "To 
Lucia's  Mother,  from  T.  G.  J.,  Jr." 

"He's  not  spoken  to  his  father  since  our  marriage," 
Mrs.  Josselyn  said,  dispassionately.  "I've  never  met 
him.  He's  good  looking " 

She  stared  silently  for  several  moments  at  the  face 
of  her  unknown  step-son  before  replacing  the  silver 
frame  upon  the  crowded  table  behind  her.  Ellen, 
whose  sense  of  the  romantic  had  been  touched  by  this 
situation,  looked  at  her  with  new  interest.  Mrs. 
Josselyn,  again  stretching  her  lithe  body  with  luxur 
ious  pleasure,  apparently  dismissed  the  subject  from 
her  mind,  for  when  she  spoke  again,  it  was  of  Ellen. 

"So  you've  had  a  nasty  time,  and  they  treated  you 
badly?"  she  said  ruminatingly.  "Well,  that's  your 
fault,  my  dear.  I've  been  watching  you " 

Her  languid  voice  dropped,  and  she  yawned. 

"I  believe  I  could  sleep  like  a  baby,  now!"  she  said. 
Then  suddenly  glancing  at  Ellen,  she  added:  "Girls 
are  alike,  you  know,  and  you  could  have  as  good  a  time 
as  any  of  them!  But  you  mustn't  try  to  play  their 
game;  they'll  have  you  there.  Make  them  play 
yours!" 

"Easier  said  than  done!  "Ellen  said,  sensitive  and 
girlish. 


34  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"Tell  'em  you  hate  walks,  and  you  think  they're  all 
silly.  Tell  'em  you  won't  dance  until  you  feel  like  it — 
they'll  fall  for  anything!"  said  the  bride.  "But  you 
should  have  gotten  on  a  horse  this  morning.  You  can 
ride." 

"I  know  I  can!  But  I  don't  know  how  you  know 
it!"  Ellen  laughed,  ashamed,  interested,  reassured 
and  thrilled  at  once. 

For  answer  the  other  woman  rose,  touched  a  piece 
of  coal  with  her  slipper,  looked  at  one  or  two  photo 
graphs  on  the  mantel,  wound  her  loose  hair  with  a  sud 
den  gesture  into  a  coil,  and  yawned  so  profoundly 
that  she  laid  her  arms  on  the  mantel  and  her  face  on  her 
arms  during  the  operation. 

"Oh,  girls  are  all  alike!  I'm  going  to  bed — good 
night!"  she  said  sleepily,  and  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  morning  came  with  glorious  winter  sunlight,  and 
Ellen  Latimer,  turning  luxuriously  under  her  warm  soft 
blankets,  stared  blankly  at  a  clock  that  was  rapidly 
moving  toward  nine  o'clock.  They  must  all  have  had 
breakfast  by  this  time — evidently  nobody  cared  whether 
she  was  alive  or  dead. 

But  the  situation  seemed  rather  interesting  than  tragic 
this  morning.  She  got  up,  enjoying  the  unexpected 
warmth  of  the  room,  and  went  yawning  into  the  bath 
room,  and  turned  on  both  faucets  for  a  bath.  Not  that 
Ellen  took  a  bath  every  morning,  there  was  no  bath 
room  in  the  old  Latimer  house,  but  she  was  as  adaptable 
as  most  girls  of  her  age. 

While  the  bath  was  running,  she  peeped  timidly  into 
Mrs.  Rose's  room,  and  was  pleasantly  surprised  to  see 
that  lady's  large  form,  heaving  in  deep  slumber,  upon 
the  bed.  One  person  would  be  later  than  Ellen,  at 
all  events! 

Ellen  had  had  a  white  night,  one  of  the  few  in  her  ex 
perience.  For  long  hours  she  had  lain  awake,  thinking 
soberly  about  the  events  of  the  past  two  days,  and, 
quite  unconsciously,  assimilating  their  bitter  lesson. 

These  girls  were  not  better  than  she,  not  wiser,  not 
really  happier.  But  their  circumstances  were  utterly 
different,  and  it  was  Ellen  who  was  to  blame,  not  they, 
for  trying  to  bridge  the  gulf  between  their  lives.  She 
still  had  her  good  home,  her  own  admiring  and  affec- 

35 


36  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

tionate  group,  her  books  to  read  by  the  fire,  her  garden 
to  dream  over  in  the  spring,  and  the  swimming  and 
boating  and  tennis  that  absorbed  all  youthful  Port 
Washington  from  June  to  October.  She  had  Willa  and 
Olive  and  the  Henshaw  boys  and  Bobby  Carnival  to 
take  Sunday  walks  with,  and,  above  all,  she  had  her 
work  at  the  League — and  she  was  going  to  work  in 
deadly  earnest  now.  Lucia  and  Doris  were  not  real, 
and  Ellen's  life  dealt  only  with  what  was  practical  and 
sane.  One  might  sigh  for  the  prettiness,  the  gaiety, 
the  irresponsibility,  of  Lucia's  life,  one's  face  might 
burn  because  this  pretty  butterfly  could  be  so  trium 
phantly  rude,  and  so  self-centred,  but  it  was  wiser  to 
forget  it  all,  or  remembering,  remember,  too,  that  the 
dainty  superfluities  were  a  mere  accident  of  income. 
Ellen  Latimer  would  have  something  that  Lucia  Torrey 
might  envy  some  day,  and  through  no  accident  of 
birth. 

Consoling  herself  with  her  first  hard-won  philosophy, 
Ellen  fell  asleep  as  a  clock  somewhere  struck  the  third 
hour  of  the  morning,  and  being  young,  she  woke  joy 
ous  and  refreshed,  and  went  down  to  breakfast  with 
feet  that  felt  more  like  dancing  than  they  had  felt  at 
any  time  the  night  before. 

The  breakfast  room  was  deserted.  Ellen  was  the 
first  of  all  the  household  to  appear.  She  smiled  over 
her  carefully  served  courses,  and  presently  was  hang 
ing  absorbed  over  a  jig-saw  puzzle  that  had  been  scat 
tered  upon  one  of  the  library  tables  the  day  before. 
Her  train  went  at  half-past  eleven,  it  was  not  yet 
ten  o'clock. 

As  the  young  people  straggled  downstairs  she  looked 
up  to  nod  at  them  composedly.  And  the  youth  called 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  37 

"Red"  came  to  the  table,  to  busy  himself  with  the 
fascinating  confusion,  lazily  declining  breakfast  be 
cause  "he  and  Miss  Latimer  were  having  such  fun!" 
There  was  really  some  show  of  warmth  in  their  invi 
tation  that  she  go  with  them  to  Dorothy's  to-day,  but 
Ellen  saw  her  new-found  path  too  clear,  and  resolutely 
shook  her  head.  At  eleven  the  smart  little  woolly 
coats  and  the  scarfs  and  heavy  laced  boots  were  all  in 
evidence  again,  and  a  group  of  horses  trampling  the 
snow  at  the  side  door. 

"I  think  you're  awfully  smart  to  have  done  so  much 
of  that!"  Lucia  murmured  lamely,  in  farewell,  her 
eyes  on  the  puzzle. 

"I  like  it,"  Ellen  said,  her  voice  a  little  gruff. 

"I'll  give  you  a  puzzle  to  take  home  with  you!'* 
Mrs.  Rose  called  from  the  card-table,  and  when  Ellen 
turned  again  Lucia  was  going  out  of  the  door,  a  whis 
pering  girl  linked  on  either  arm.  She  presently  went 
quietly  upstairs  to  pack,  and  pinned  on  the  fur-trimmed 
hat,  and  fastened  a  little  clump  of  fresh  violets,  from  a 
vase,  against  the  sober  little  suit.  It  was  only  good 
byes  now,  and  the  whole  experience  was  over! 

"The  limousine's  coming  'round,  dear,"  Mrs.  Rose 
said,  stacking  a  last  trick,  and  rising  somewhat  heavily 
to  accompany  her  guest  to  the  door.  They  stepped 
out  to  the  stone  veranda  that  Ellen  had  crossed  with 
such  high  hopes  two  days  ago,  and  looked  down  upon 
a  panorama  of  scattered  homes  and  gardens  powdered 
with  the  light  snow  and  washed  with  brilliant  sun 
shine;  stone  fences,  brick  fences,  clean-swept  drive 
ways,  everything  shining  and  prosperous  in  a  bath 
of  Sunday  peace. 

"I'd  like  a  ride  myself  this  morning,  but  I  haven't 


38  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

been  on  a  horse  for  years,'*  said  the  hostess.  "She 
hasn't  played  bridge  much,  but  she  seems  to  be  a  nat 
ural  born  player,  and  don't  say  one  word  about  luck!" 
she  added  inconsequentially.  Ellen  began  her  thanks 
and  good-byes. 

"Don't  say  one  word,  dearie,"  said  kindly  Mrs.  Rose, 
"I'm  only  sorry  you  have  to  go."  Her  eyes  suddenly 
were  fixed  upon  the  gate,  and  Ellen,  turning,  too,  saw 
a  low-hung  powerfully  built  roadster  turn  in,  and  come 
quickly  up  the  drive.  "Now  who's  that?"  wondered 
the  older  woman,  discontentedly  eyeing  the  two  furred 
men  who  occupied  the  car.  "  I  never  sit  down  to  a  game 
of — why,  it's  Ward!  It's  my  husband  and  Gibbs  Jos- 
selyn!"  She  turned  agitatedly  to  Ellen.  "For  Heav 
en's  sake,  what  shall  I  do?" 

Ellen,  aware  of  an  emergency,  had  yet  not  at  all 
grasped  the  situation  when  the  two  men  came  laughing 
up  the  steps,  and  greeted  her  hostess.  Mrs.  Rose 
dazedly  kissed  the  small,  gray-haired  man  who  was 
her  husband,  and  dazedly  introduced  Ellen. 

"Ward,  this  is  Nellie  Buckley's  girl  you've  heard 
me  talk  about,  and  Miss  Latimer — Mr.  Josselyn,"  she 
said. 

Ellen  gave  her  little  gloved  hand  to  Gibbs  Josselyn. 
She  would  have  recognized  him  instantly  from  the 
picture.  Like  his  companion,  he  was  smothered  from 
neck  to  heels  in  a  great  fur  coat,  but  he  snatched  off  a 
heavy  gauntlet  before  he  took  Ellen's  hand.  His  head, 
bare  in  the  sunshine,  was  silver,  and  the  lean,  clever 
face  she  remembered  was  clear  olive  in  colouring,  and 
brightened  now  with  a  most  winning  and  kindly  smile. 
Ellen's  first  rather  awed  impression  was  of  poise,  re 
serve,  self-confidence.  Authority  spoke  in  the  pleasant 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  39 

voice,  and  every  inch  of  the  man  was  stamped  to  her 
young  vision  with  a  fineness,  an  aristocracy,  a  some 
thing  that  marked  him  superior  to  others. 

In  the  midst  of  the  first  jumble  of  explanations  from 
the  newcomers,  as  to  their  reasons  for  leaving  Great 
Barrington,  and  their  first  details  of  the  trip,  Mrs. 
Rose  distressedly  interrupted. 

"Gibbs — Gibbs,  my  dear  boy,"  stammered  she,  hold 
ing  his  hand  in  both  her  fat  ones,  and  fixing  upon  him  a 
look  all  imploring  and  conciliatory.  "You  know  your 
father  is  here,  dear — I  wouldn't  have  had  it  happen 
for  anything  in  the  whole  world — but  he  and  Lillian 
got  in  on  Wednesday,  and  he  telephoned  me  at  once 
to  come  down  and  lunch  with  them — I  really  do  feel 
terribly  about  it " 

Gibbs  Josselyn  had  flushed  up  to  the  silver  crest, 
but  he  smiled  upon  her  not  unkindly. 

"Dad's  here,  eh?" 

"Yes,  Gibbs— and— and  Lillian!" 

"Gosh,  that  is  awkward!"  ejaculated  Ward  Rose, 
with  a  sharp,  anxious  look  at  his  guest. 

"Not  awkward  a  bit,"  Josselyn  said  quickly.  "Of 
course  you  had  to  have  them,  I'm  glad  you  did — but 
of  course  I  won't  meet  her.  I'll  be  getting  right  along, 
and  see  you  soon " 

"Listen,  Gibbs — she's  really  quite  nice!"  Mrs.  Rose 
said  eagerly.  "Do — do  be  reasonable  about  it!  Your 
father — your  father  isn't  going  to  have  any  more  chil 
dren,  Gibbs,  and  you  simply " 

"Gibbs  is  the  best  judge  of  what  he  wants  to  do,  my 
dear!"  her  husband  interrupted  nervously,  with  a 
liint  of  disapproval  in  his  tone.  "I  wouldn't — I  think 
I  wouldn't  try  to  force  matters,  Abby.  We're  awfully 


40  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

sorry,  my  dear  boy,  but  you  understand — of  course  I 
had  no  idea " 

Mrs.   Rose  looked  despair. 

"But  youVe  not  had  breakfast,  Gibbs,  Lucia  will 
be  wild  if  I  let  you  go — coming  eighty  miles  a  morning 
like  this " 

"But  I  can  get  breakfast!"  he  said  impatiently,  as  if 
he  found  the  situation  insufferable. 

Ellen  had  been  a  rather  embarrassed  witness  to 
this  scene,  her  sympathetic  eyes  going  from  one  face 
to  another.  Now  her  hostess  suddenly  noticed 
her: 

"My  dear  child — all  this  time — where's  the  lim 
ousine?"  she  exclaimed  nervously.  "Who  was  to 
telephone  the  garage?  Why  isn't  it  here?  What 
time  have  you,  Ward — Miss  Latimer  must  catch  the 
eleven-thirty!" 

"She  has  exactly  eleven  minutes,"  Gibbs  Josselyn 
said  drily,  glancing  at  his  watch,  and  the  older  man 
added  surprisedly:  "What  on  earth's  the  matter 
with  Maurice?  Why  is  everything  topsy-turvy,  Abby  r" 

"Good-bye,  both  of  you — see  you  soon!"  Gibbs 
said  suddenly.  "Run  down  and  jump  into  my  car, 
Miss  Latimer.  I'll  run  you  to  the  train.  We'll  make 
it  very  nicely.  Good-bye,  Ward !  Good-bye!" 

"Oh,  now,  I  den't  like  this  one  bit!"  Mrs.  Rose  con 
tinued  to  protest,  but  she  kissed  Ellen  good-bye  none 
the  less,  and  her  husband  ran  with  the  two  young  persons 
down  the  steps,  tucked  Ellen's  bag  into  the  back  of  the 
car,  and  forced  her  to  slip  into  his  big  fur  coat  for  the 
two-mile  trip. 

"Leave  it  in  the  office  some  da}r,  Gibbs,"  he  said. 
"You  can  make  it,  I  guess!  Good-bye,  Miss • 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  41 

Awfully  sorry,  old  boy,  but  such  things  will  occur. 
Abby's  all  upset  about  it,  I  know." 

Young  Josselyn  put  Ellen  into  the  car,  and  tucked 
the  heavy  robe  snugly  about  her.  In  another  ten 
seconds  he  had  sprung  into  his  own  seat,  and  waved  a 
good-bye  to  the  watching  Roses.  The  roaring  of  the  car 
drowned  out  all  farewells.  Ellen  laughed  excitedly 
and  waved  her  hand.  A  glance  at  her  companion's 
dark,  unsmiling  face,  however,  rather  daunted  her,  and 
she  sobered  instantly  and  shrank  down  into  her  seat, 
staring  gravely  ahead. 

A  day  or  two  ago  Ellen  might  have  felt  it  her  place 
to  keep  the  conversation  moving.  But  the  last  forty- 
eight  hours  had  been  full  of  painful  lessons  for  her; 
she  knew  better  now  than  to  attempt  any  friendly 
overtures.  The  men  and  women  of  this  strange  world 
did  not  like  it.  Boys  younger  than  she  had  snubbed 
her,  girls  of  seventeen  had  looked  upon  her  askance. 
And  now  she  was  alone  with  a  man  whom  even  these 
superior  girls  and  boys  held  in  deep  admiration  and 
respect.  So  she  kept  absolutely  silent,  her  bright  eyes 
moving  between  the  fur  of  her  hat  and  the  fur  of  her 
collar  like  those  of  a  timid  but  interested  bird. 

The  roadster  ran  along  smoothly  between  snow- 
heaped  hedges,  past  one  stately  gateway  after  another. 
The  sun  shone,  and  the  wheels  made  a  pleasant  crunch 
ing  sound.  Ellen's  small  body  was  tipped  into  an 
attitude  more  like  lying  down  than  being  seated,  but 
she  found  it  delightfully  luxurious  and  comfortable. 

Sometimes  a  closed  car  filled  with  well-dressed, 
church-going  women  turned  them  from  the  road,  and 
twice  they  met  riders,  rosy-cheeked  and  laughing  in 
the  windless,  clear  cold  morning.  Smoke  was  pouring 


42  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

up  from  wide  chimneys  straight  to  the  cloudless  sky, 
and  the  village,  when  they  reached  it,  was  full  of  chat 
ting  groups,  on  their  way  to  church,  or  clearing  the  side 
walks  with  noisy  shovels. 

Ellen  was  more  interested  in  these  details  than  in  her 
train,  but  as  the  car  was  brought  neatly  against  the 
station  platform,  she  began  to  free  herself  from  her 
wrappings,  and  said  politely: 

"I'm  a  thousand  times  obliged  to  you,'Mr.  Josselyn!" 

"I  don't  know  whether  you  are  or  not,"  he  said, 
narrowing  his  eyes  at  her  quizzically.  "I  think  we've 
missed  it!" 

"Missed  it !    Oh,  goodness ! "    Ellen  echoed  in  dismay. 

"Stay  where  you  are,"  he  said,  jumping  from  his 
seat.  "I'll  find  out." 

He  crossed  the  station  platform  and  disappeared,  and 
Ellen  sat  in  a  panic,  waiting  for  him.  Oh,  she  couldn't 
go  back  to  that  house,  and  have  the  whole  thing  begin 
over  again 

"Yes,  ma'am,  weVe  missed  it,"  said  Gibbs  Josselyn, 
coming  back,  and  leaning  against  the  car  with  sym 
pathetic  eyes  on  her  face.  "Was  it  pretty  important, 
or  what?  The  next  is  at  one-twenty-two." 

"It's  not  so  important,"  Ellen  said,  in  a  troubled 
voice.  "But  I  don't  like  to  go  back — I'll  wait  here!" 

"What — until  after  one  o'clock!" 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  Ellen  answered  firmly.  "I — I 
don't  know  them  very  well,"  she  went  on  confusedly. 
"And — and  I  think  I  rather  worry  Mrs.  Rose,  not 
getting  on  exactly  with  the  others."  She  stopped, 
conscious  that  this  explanation  was  rather  lame,  and 
added  finally:  "You  see,  they  all  know  each  other  so 
well,  and  they  don't  know  me!" 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  43 

"I  see  perfectly,"  Gibbs  said  pleasantly.  "You 
would  be  safer  in  a  band  of  Hottentots ! " 

Ellen  laughed.  Her  white  night  had  only  added  a 
touch  of  mystery,  of  spirituality,  to  her  Irish  beauty, 
after  all,  and  the  drive,  after  her  breakfast,  had  brought 
back  her  wild-rose  colour.  The  man  looked  at  her 
as  if  he  saw  her  for  the  first  time,  looked  down  at  his  big 
fur  glove,  plunged  his  hand  suddenly  into  it,  and 
asked  carelessly: 

"You  couldn't  make  the  run  with  me,  I  suppose? 
I'm  going  straight  down  to  my  club.  It  won't  take  us 
more  than  a  couple  of  hours." 

The  girl's  blue  eyes  danced.  The  thought  of  a  refusal 
never  entered  her  head. 

"Oh,  I'd  love  it!"  she  answered  happily. 

"Good  girl!"  he  said.  He  walked  about  his  car, 
eyeing  it  from  all  sides,  opened  the  engine-hood  and 
made  a  few  mysterious  investigations,  got  back  in  his 
place,  and  they  were  off".  The  village  and  the  chat 
ting  neighbours  and  the  scraping  shovels  slipped  behind 
them,  and  they  were  out  between  the  stately 
fences  and  the  snow-draped  gardens  again.  Once 
her  companion,  who  was  now  wearing  dark  goggles, 
turned  to  Ellen  and  dropped  another  pair  of  glasses  in 
her  lap,  with  the  four  brief  words:  "Better  put  them 
on."  Ellen  obediently  snapped  them  against  her 
soft  hair.  Not  another  word  was  spoken  for  three 
miles.  Ellen  was  entirely  conscious  that  the  man 
beside  her  was  gradually  working  off  his  irritation  and 
anger. 

After  awhile  he  glanced  at  her,  smiled  a  sudden  and 
perfunctory  smile,  and  said : 

"I'm  pleasant  company  for  you — what?     Have  you 


44  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

minded  my  chatter?"     Ellen  laughed,  in  some  em 
barrassment. 

"I  didn't  mind — not  talking!"  she  said,  shyly. 

"You — what!"  he  asked  in  so  loud  a  voice  that  she 
felt  rather  frightened.  "You  didn't  mind?  Well, 
that's  so  much  gained,  anyway."  He  drove  on  for  a 
minute  or  two,  and  then  asked  abruptly:  "Lorimer, 
is  it?" 

She  looked  puzzled,  smiled,  reddened,  suddenly 
caught  his  meaning,  and  answered  hastily: 

"Latimer!" 

"Latimer — I  beg  your  pardon!  Well,  Miss  Latimer/ 
how  much  of  that  did  you  get  ? " 

Again  Ellen  was  not  quite  sure  she  understood  him. 

"You  mean — there  at  the  house?"  she  faltered,  as  he 
gave  her  a  shrewd  side  glance. 

"Exactly!" 

"I  knew  that  Mr. that  your  father  was  there!'* 

the  girl  said,  timidly. 

Gibbs  wrenched  at  the  wheel  with  large,  strong 
hands;  his  brow  clouded;  they  flew  along  in  silence. 

"Damn  such  women!"  she  heard  him  say  under  his 
breath.  Ellen  felt  her  colour  rise,  she  looked  straight 
ahead.  "I  wonder  if  she  arranged  that!"  Gibbs 
presently  said,  in  a  suspicious  and  musing  tone,  as  the 
car  coasted  noiselessly  down  a  grade,  and  they  and 
the  white  world  were  wrapped  in  a  momentary  silence. 

Ellen's  quick  look  met  his;  she  shook  her  head 
decidedly. 

"Mrs.  Rose?  Oh,  no!  She  wouldn't  do  a  thing  like 
that!  She  was  frightfully  nervous  the  instant  she  saw 
you,"  she  answered  confidently.  "She's  too  good- 
hearted — she  wouldn't  do  a  thing  like  that ! " 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  45 

Again  he  did  not  answer,  except  for  a  dubious  glance 
and  a  half-satisfied  nod.  But  after  a  while  he  spoke. 

"I  guess  you're  right.  You  probably  are.  I  guess 
I'm  just  out  of  sorts — making  too  much  of  the  whole 
thing!"  The  car  slowed  down,  Gibbs  looked  at  the 
fastening  on  one  of  his  big  gloves,  shot  Ellen  a  glance. 

"  Have  you  got  a  mother  ? " 

"No,"  Ellen  answered.     "My  mother  is  dead." 

"So  is  mine,"  he  said  soberly.  "I  loved  her  very 
much.  I  don't — I  don 't  get  used  to  it ! " 

"I'm  sorry!"  the  girl  said,  simply,  after  a  moment. 

"That  crowd,"  Gibbs  said  darkly,  "can  make  light 
of  it,  if  they  like!  The  King  is  dead — long  live  the 
King.  Well,  I'm  not  that  sort.  I'm  done  with  the 
whole  crowd  of  them!" 

"It  was  awkward,"  Ellen  said  thoughtfully.  "But 
I  don't  think  it  was  any  one's  fault." 

"Perhaps  you're  right!"  he  conceded,  again.  And 
again  for  a  few  minutes  he  was  silent.  Then  he  sud 
denly  began  to  speak  of  his  mother. 

"I  don't  know  why,"  he  said  unexpectedly,  "but  I 
wish  you  had  known  my  mother.  She  was  a  most 
extraordinary  person.  She  was  frail  always,  I  think, 
and  when  I  was  a  boy  about  eighteen  or  nineteen,  she 
had  an  illness,  and  she  never  left  her  couch  after  that— 
for  twelve  years.  I  was  studying  in  Paris,  she  and  my 
father  had  left  me  there;  she  wanted  me  to  be  a  painter. 
But  on  my  own  responsibility  I  came  home  when  my 
father  wrote  me  that  she  was  ill.  I've  never  forgotten 
her  look  when  I  came  into  the  garden.  It  was  summer, 
and  she  was  lying  on  the  porch — thin,  and  so  white — 

Ellen  hardly  dared  breathe.  She  had  never  had  a 
man's  confidence  before.  "I  gave  up  my  painting,  and  I 


46  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

went  into  the  firm  with  my  father,"  he  pursued.  "It 
was  all  made  mighty  easy  for  me,  of  course.  I  had  my 
riding  horse,  and  my  country  club,  I'm  not  represent 
ing  myself  as  a  martyr.  When  he  had  to  go  to  London, 
I  stayed  with  her,  and  when  Dad  came  back  they  sent 
me  around  the  world  with  another  chap — a  wonderful 
trip,  too.  A  year  ago,  we  were  both  in  the  library  with 
her,  when  she — well,  she  just  gave  a  sort  of  sigh,  that 
was  all.  Her  heart  got  tired,  there  was  no  pain.  And 
for  awhile  we  thought  my  father  was  going,  too. 
He  drooped  and  brooded — it  was  ghastly.  He'd  al 
ways  been  so  young  for  his  age.  But  now  he  seemed 
broken,  somehow!" 

Ellen  cast  about  for  something  to  say,  fearful  of  chill 
ing  his  mood. 

"He  seems  young  now,"  she  ventured  at  last. 

"Now?  Of  course  he  does!"  Gibbs  assented  half- 
angrily.  "Mind  you,"  he  added,  speaking  fast  and 
vigorously,  "Mind  you,  he  had  a  perfect  right  to 
remarry  if  he  felt  like  it.  That's  his  affair.  But  to 
marry  this  pink-cheeked,  empty-headed,  stupid  cloak 
model — if  she  was  that!  I  only  saw  her  once.  She 
was  engaged,  when  my  father  met  her,  to  a  big  black- 
moustached  fellow  who  had  a  couple  of  living  wives. 
That's  her  measure!  The  fellows  began  to  hint  to  me 
about  it  six  months  ago;  I  didn't  believe  it.  Then  I 
saw  my  father  with  her  one  night,  having  dinner;  at 

Sherry's,  I  think  it  was.  I  thought "  He  glanced 

at  his  companion  suddenly.  "Well,  you're  only  a 
kid,"  he  said,  more  gently.  "But  I  never  dreamed  this 
would  come  of  it!" 

Ellen's  colour  rose. 

"  But — but  there  is  nothing  disgraceful  in  his  marry- 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  47 

ing  her,"  she  said  bravely.  "And — and  if  I  were  your 
mother  I  would  rather  he  did  that  than — than  did  any 
thing  that  wasn't  fair  to  her!" 

Gibbs  drove  on  in  silence.  She  thought  perhaps  he 
had  not  been  listening. 

"You're  quite  right,  my  dear,"  he  said  presently,  in 
a  softened  tone.  "You  make  me  feel  ashamed  of  my 
self.  A  good  woman  has  the  trick  of  putting  her  finger 
right  on  the  vital  spot  sometimes,  and  I  believe  my 
mother  would  agree  with  you!" 

Ellen's  happy  colour  flooded  her  sensitive  face. 

"I've  not  seen  my  father  since  this  thing  happened, 
two  months  ago.  I  suppose  they  told  you  that?" 
Gibbs  said.  "I've  not  been  home  since.  I  suppose 
he's  established  her  there,  if  they  got  in  on  Wednesday, 
and  she's  prowling  among  my  mother's  books  and  laces 
and  jewellery.  I  can't — I  can't  quite  go  it.  The 
world's  big  enough,  and  people  will  stop  buzzing  about 
us  presently.  Let  her  have  her  money  and  position 
and  good  times,  I  don't  grudge  them,  God  knows. 
But  I  feel  as  if  it  wasn't  only  my  mother  who  died  a 
year  ago,  but  my  father,  too,  and  the  old  days,  and  the 
old  way  of  thinking.  Some  day — I  don't  know — I'll 
go  in  and  see  the  old  man,  and  we'll  have  a  talk — 

"But  you've  not  met  her?"  Ellen  asked  thought 
fully,  when  his  voice  had  dropped  to  silence.  "She 
doesn't  seem  to  me  the  cloak-model  type." 

"Pretty,  eh?"  he  asked,  with  dry  interest. 

"Oh,  extremely!  She's  more  than  pretty,  she  really 
has  a  lovely  face,  and  I  think  she  is  clever,  too.  She's 
studying  French  and  music,  and  she — well,  she  has  a 
way  of  keeping  silent  that  makes  other  women  seem 
like  chatter-boxes!" 


48  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"Paris  gowns,  I  suppose,  and  tiaras  to  breakfast?" 

"Well,  too  many  jewels,  I  should  think.  But  her 
clothes  are  really  exquisite;  she  had  on  some  sort  of 
awfully  plain  peacock  blue  thing  this  morning,  not  a  bit 
of  trimming,  not  even  a  belt — it  was  just  wrapped 
about  her  like  a  robe — all  the  girls  were  watching  it 
out  of  the  corners  of  their  eyes!  And  Mrs.  Rose  said 
she  happened  to  have  ordered  one  just  like  it,  only 
in  green!"  Ellen  said  innocently. 

Gibbs  laughed  shortly. 

"That's  Abby  for  you!  She'll  have  it,  too,  the  next 
time  Mrs.  Josselyn  visits  her.  Go  on,  tell  me  about 
them.  Why  were  the  girls  watching  out  of  the  cor 
ners  of  their  eyes  ? " 

"Well,  I  don't  think  they  wanted  your — your  father's 
wife  to  think  she  could  show  them  anything  they 
didn't  know!" 

"Exactly.  It  must  be  lots  of  fun  to  play  her  game," 
Gibbs  said  musingly.  "Watching  every  chance, 
studying  the  Social  Register  as  if  it  were  her  catechism, 
picking  up  bridge  and  French  and  music!  I  wonder  if 
my  father  sees  through  it?" 

"It  wouldn't  be  worth  while  to  me,  not  if  I  was  left 
a  million  dollars,"  Ellen  contributed,  "There's  too 
much  that's  uncomfortable  about  it.  And  if  I  had 
daughters,  I  wouldn't  want  them  to  think  that  only 
money  counted.  I  don't  mean  that  I  could  do  it,  even 
if  I  did  want  to!"  she  said  hastily. 

"Do  what?"  Gibbs  asked  kindly,  his  interested 
eyes  on  her  face. 

"Oh,  dress  as  they  do,  and  go  to  a  fashionable 
school,  and  keep  up  that  sort  of  rushing  about  and 
talking—  Ellen  answered,  a  little  uncertainly. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  49 

"There's  nothing  in  it  for  the  people  who  chase  it  all 
their  lives,"  Gibbs  observed.  "And  the  real  people — 
the  ones  who  are  born  to  it,  don't  know  they  have  it 
— so  there  you  are!  You  can't  buy  anything  real 
with  money,  as  I  see  you  suspect.  Well,  now  I've 
talked  you  to  death  about  me,  and  told  you  my  maiden 
name  and  everything,  and  it's  your  turn.  You  didn't 
drop  out  of  the  sky,  I  suppose,  just  to  give  mean  ex 
cuse  to  blow  off  steam  ?  You  live  in ? " 

"Port  Washington,  Long  Island.  Age,  twenty-two," 
Ellen  said  demurely.  She  told  him  about  her  grand 
father,  and  Joe,  and  her  work  at  the  Art  League.  It 
pleased  her  to  be  able  to  paint  Mrs.  Rose  in  the 
colours  of  a  generous  benefactress,  to  show  him  what  a 
difference  the  friendship  of  the  kindly  old  meddler 
had  made  in  her  life.  She  said  that  she  lived  in  an  old- 
fashioned  village  house,  and  that  Aunt  Elsie  was 
considered  the  best  housekeeper  in  the  village,  and  that 
her  tomatoes  and  Ellen's  dahlias  had  twice  taken 
prizes  at  the  Mineola  Fair. 

"You  sound  quaint,"  said  Gibbs,  "and  as  if  you 
might  have  a  melodeon  in  the  parlour." 

"We  have!"  Ellen  said,  dimpling  and  widening  her 
eyes  as  she  smiled  at  him. 

"Well,  nice  little  country  girls  should  not  use  rouge  in 
excess,"  Gibbs  rebuked  her.  "Look  at  yourself  in 
that  mirrorscope,  and  rub  some  of  it  off  at  once!" 

The  girl  laughed  delightedly,  and  leaned  forward  to 
see  the  vision  of  a  miniature  Ellen  royally  furred,  with 
black  hair  loosened  about  crimson  cheeks  and  happy  eyes. 

After  that  they  ran  on  for  awhile  in  contented  si 
lence,  and  then  Ellen  suddenly  said,  from  the  depth  of 
a  thoughtful  mood : 


50  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"And  now  will  you  be  an  architect  in  business  for 
yourself? " 

"I  don't  know,"  Gibbs  answered  with  a  quick,  amused 
glance  at  her.  "I've  been  drifting.  I  may  go 
abroad,  and  go  back  to  the  old  work.  I've  had  a  hank 
ering  for  it  at  various  times  during  these  years. 
My  mother's  little  estate  comes  to  me  in  a  few  months. 
That  would  keep  me  going  until  I  struck  my  vein." 

"You  could  take  it  all,  and  go  to  Paris."  Ellen, 
who  had  about  seven  hundred  dollars  in  mind,  said 
enthusiastically.  "I  would  if  I  could!  I  don't  mean 
that  I  want  the  Bohemian  part,"  she  went  on  eagerly, 
"but  I  want  to  get  among  people  who  are  poor, 
and  working  like  mad,  and  not  just  in  it  for  the  fun! 
I've  thought  sometimes  that  I'd  go  to  some  woman 
there,  and  ask  her  to  let  me  live  in  her  family,  you 
know,  cooking  and  washing  dishes,  and  let  me  off  for  my 
classes!  Surely  that'd  be  perfectly  safe,  wouldn't  it?" 

"Why,  yes — if  more  girls  had  that  idea  there'd  be 
considerably  less  suffering  and  sin  in  Paris  this  mo 
ment,"  Gibbs  said,  for  some  reason  rather  touched  by 
the  humble  little  dream.  "But  you  see  they  want  to 
enjoy  life,  and  they  spend  their  money,  and  then  there 
comes  a  cold  winter,  and  not  too  much  fire  and  food, 
and  somebody  willing  to  play  the  friend — and  then 
trouble!  It's  too  bad — your  heart  is  aching  for  some 
one  or  other  all  the  time  you're  there!" 

And  having  said  this  in  a  fatherly  tone,  he  stopped 
the  car  at  one  side  of  the  road,  and  took  off  his  glasses. 
Ellen  took  her  own  off,  too,  and  looked  at  him  in  some 
surprise,  as  they  blinked  at  each  other  in  the  strong 
light. 

"We  are  now  forty  miles  from  Columbus  Circle, 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  51 

and  it  is  one  o'clock,"  said  Gibbs.  "How  do  you  feel 
about  luncheon?  A  place  called  'Adrian's'  is  about 
three  miles  from  here,  and  I  am  a  frail  young  thing, 
and  I've  not  had  any  breakfast!" 

Ellen  was  not  Aunt  Elsie's  niece  for  nothing.  She 
showed  immediate  consternation. 

"No  breakfast!     Oh,  why  didn't  you  say  so!" 

"Then  j^ou'll  join  me  in  a  large  steak,  several  pounds 
of  fried  potatoes,  and  some  coffee?"  Gibbs  asked, 
in  satisfaction. 

The  conventional  aspect  of  the  affair  struck  Ellen 
for  the  first  time.  She  looked  at  him  gravely,  and  her 
ready  colour  crept  up.  She  did  not  know  him,  her 
chaperone  was  even  unaware  that  she  was  in  his  care. 
Men  loved  to  get  foolish  girls  into  strange  places,  Aunt 
Elsie  said,  and  a  girl  never  made  a  mistake  in  refusing 
when  she  was  in  doubt.  If  Ellen  didn't  get  back  to 
New  York  to-night  Aunt  Elsie  would  think  her  with 
Mrs.  Rose,  and  Mrs.  Rose  would  think  her  safely  home. 

Gibbs  was  smiling  at  her  obvious  hesitation. 

"You  know  you're  safe  with  me,  Kiddie,  don't 
you?"  he  asked.  "You  know  I  wouldn't  take  you 
anywhere  that  I  wouldn't  take  my  mother?" 

That  settled  it.  Ellen  had  not  been  born  yesterday, 
after  all.  She  had  her  own  stern  girlish  standard  of 
judgment,  and  she  knew  she  was  safe.  The  luncheon 
was  a  perfectly  natural  part  of  the  trip;  they  were  both 
hungry.  And  he  had  not  had  any  breakfast! 

She  made  him  an  answer  that  pleased  him  deeply, 
although  he  apparently  conceded  it  nothing  but  a 
satisfied  nod,  and  immediately  hid  his  eyes  under  the 
glasses  again. 

"If  you  say  it's  all  right,  I  know  it  must  be." 


58  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

So  they  went  to  "Adrian's,"  a  big,  shabby  hostelry  set 
upon  a  rise  of  ground,  and  provided  with  wide  ve 
randas  for  the  summer  crowds;  verandas  deserted  now 
under  their  bare  awning  frames. 

Inside  was  great  warmth,  and  the  odour  of  cigars 
and  food.  Ellen  found  the  rush  of  hot  air  delicious. 
She  was  cramped  and  chilly  and  sleepy,  and  surprisingly 
hungry.  Gibbs  put  her  in  the  care  of  a  cheerful  little 
Irish  maid  whose  presence  there  was  in  itself  reassuring 
to  Ellen,  and  when  she  had  washed  her  face,  and  brushed 
her  hair,  and  readjusted  her  hat,  she  came  out  in 
great  spirits  to  find  Gibbs  waiting  for  her  at  a  small 
table  in  a  corner  of  the  sun-flooded  dining  room. 

Other  starved  motorists  were  eating,  and  Ellen  and 
Gibbs  childishly  hoped  that  every  tray,  borne  slanting 
by  a  staggering  waiter  through  the  swinging  kitchen 
door,  might  prove  to  be  their  own.  They  rapturously 
praised  the  bread  and  butter. 

The  meal  came  at  last,  hot  and  odorous  and  appetiz 
ing,  and  they  talked  while  they  ate.  Gibbs  told  her 
of  his  first  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Rose. 

"  I  was  a  small  kid  of  ten  or  twelve,  in  Rome,  do 
you  see?  And  she  was  there  with  her  first  husband, 
Torrey,  who  was  a  good  deal  older  than  she — a  man  of 
fifty-five  or  sixty,  I  should  say.  He  had  struck  it  rich  in 
the  West  somewhere,  and  she  wasn't  the  woman  to 
settle  down  in  Nevada  City.  Arthur  was  a  baby  then; 
Lucia  was  born  later.  My  mother  was  kind  to  her, 
we  were  at  the  same  hotel,  and  she  was  awfully  kind  to 
me.  She  had  a  brother  with  her,  about  my  age,  and  we 
saw  a  good  deal  of  each  other.  Later,  when  she  was  a 
widow,  she  turned  up  in  Paris  with  the  two  children. 
My  mother  and  father  were  staying  there  for  a  while, 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  53 

before  leaving  me  there  to  study.  And  later,  she 
came  here,  and  married  Rose,  who  is  a  darn  nice  fel 
low,  and  now  of  course  she  regards  me  as  a  member 
of  her  family!  And  I'm  fond  of  her,  too,  although 
Lucia's  a  little  fool,  and  I  can't  stand  Arthur." 

"She  went  to  school  in  Boston  with  my  mother," 
Ellen  said.  "But  I  never  saw  her  until  a  few  years 
ago.  Now  that  I've  visited  her  I  can  see  just  the  care 
less  way  she  suddenly  thought  of  inviting  me  to  her 
Thanksgiving  house  party.  She  thinks  all  young 
people  ought  to  like  each  other  and  dance  and  have  a 
good  time,  and  I  suppose  she  felt  sorry  for  me.  But  I 
never  had  such  a  wretched,  uncomfortable  time  in  my 
life;  perhaps  it  was  my  own  fault!" 

She  told  him  all  about  it,  inconsequentially,  and  he 
listened  with  genuine  interest  in  his  handsome  eyes. 
Perhaps  this  artless  revelation  of  a  girl's  heart  was 
novel  to  a  man  who  found  the  sex  remarkable  in  all  its 
phases,  perhaps  with  beauty  like  Ellen's  opposite  him, 
and  a  delicious  breakfast  under  way  at  last,  he  would 
have  found  anything  she  said  equally  absorbing. 

"Little  cads  and  snobs,"  he  said,  when  she  had 
finished.  "And  some  of  them  will  never  be  anything 
else.  If  Lucia  marries  well,  and  starts  off  with  a 
limousine  and  three  or  four  servants,  and  a  big  wedding, 
she'll  never  know  that  she  really  is  a  rather  ignorant 
and  undeveloped  girl,  whose  money  has  proved  about 
the  worst  thing  that  could  have  come  to  her!  Well — 
how  do  you  feel  now?  Anything  more?"  He  sum 
moned  the  waiter;  the  check  was  paid.  It  seemed 
quite  natural  to  Ellen  that  he  should  put  a  piece  of  silver 
into  her  hand:  "For  the  girl,  when  you  get  your 
coat." 


54  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

Warmed  and  contented,  they  went  out  to  the  car 
again,  and  again  Ellen  was  wrapped  in  snugly,  and  dis 
guised  by  the  big  dark  glasses. 

"Half-past  two,"  said  Gibbs,  again  at  the  wheel. 
"That  means  that  we  will  run  into  the  city  just  about 
four  o'clock.'* 

"It's  going  to  snow,"  said  Captain  Latimer's  grand 
daughter  with  certainty.  Her  companion  gave  a  quick, 
suspicious  look  at  the  sky. 

"I  believe  you're  right,  Miss  Fatima  Larimer.  But 
we'll  beat  it  to  New  York  just  the  same.  Let  us 
away!" 

The  car  moved  smoothly  away  over  the  snow. 
Ellen  was  beginning  to  love  the  steady,  gliding  motion. 
She  secretly  wished  that  there  was  a  longer  journey 
ahead.  But  when  the  disquieting  thought  leaped  into 
her  mind  that  he  might  offer  to  drive  her  all  the  way 
down  to  Port  Washington,  she  most  inconsistently 
began  to  pray  that  it  would  not  occur  to  him  to  do  so. 
Aunt  Elsie's  big  Sunday  dinner  would  be  over,  the 
house  would  reek  of  Grandpa's  old  pipe.  There 
would  be  only  cold  food  in  the  house  for  supper,  and 
Aunt  Elsie  might  not  be  gracious.  No,  if  he  said  any 
thing  about  it,  she  must  dissuade  him  at  all  costs.  But 
perhaps  he  would  mercifully  be  unaware  that  it  was 
only  seventeen  miles  from  the  Williamsburg  Bridge 
to  the  Port  Washington  Post  Office. 

The  snow  was  surely  coming;  dark  little  cottony 
clouds  were  gathering  ahead,  and  pressing  low  over  the 
silent  earth.  There  was  no  sunshine  now,  and  the  air 
seemed  heavier  and  colder.  The  roads  were  almost 
deserted. 

"Never    you    mind,   we'll   beat    it!"     Gibbs    said 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  55 

with  great  enjoyment.  "Look  out  for  a  signpost, 
and  tell  me  where  we  are." 

"Columbus  Circle  twelve  miles,'*  Ellen  announced, 
after  a  few  minutes. 

"Twelve  miles — well,  we  must  look  out  for  the  Sunday 
speed  cops  now!"  He  slackened  his  pace.  They  were 
running  through  a  well-settled  region.  Ellen  began 
to  realize  that  the  trip  was  almost  over.  She  might 
get  the  train  at  four-twenty,  otherwise  she  could  easily 
catch  the  five-twenty,  and  get  home  just  in  time  for 
the  late  supper.  The  day  had  run  away;  a  day  always 
to  be  a  wonderful  and  treasured  memory. 

Afterward,  she  tried  to  remember  just  how  she 
was  shaken  from  her  musings.  Like  all  accidents,  the 
thing  was  simplicity  itself.  They  were  running  par 
allel  to  a  trolley  track,  on  the  wide  street  under  the 
beginning  of  the  elevated  trains.  There  was  a  car  on 
the  track  a  few  hundred  feet  ahead,  and  next  to  the 
car  a  man  driving  an  enormous  team  of  horses  and  an 
empty  truck.  Both  truck  and  trolley  were  travelling 
in  the  same  direction  as  the  automobile. 

The  street  was  so  wide  that  there  was  no  question, 
even  in  Ellen's  mind,  of  the  propriety  of  passing  the 
car  and  truck,  especially  as  the  stretch  of  street  be 
yond  was  absolutely  empty.  Gibbs  turned  his 
wheel  toward  the  left,  and  was  running  unconcern 
edly  by,  when  the  motorman  suddenly  sounded  an 
ear-piercing  whistle — a  terrific,  prolonged  blast  of  the 
siren  with  which  trolley  cars  are  sometimes  equipped 
in  the  country.  The  horses,  with  a  wild  plunge 
of  terror,  flung  themselves  straight  across  the  path  of 
the  motor-car  coming  up  behind  them,  almost  unseating 
their  driver,  and  tangling  themselves  in  reins  and  harness. 


56  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

Gibbs  jerked  his  car  violently  to  the  left,  instinc 
tively  avoiding  the  plunging  hoofs;  there  was  a  moment 
of  horrible  skidding  and  grinding  in  the  snow  that  edged 
the  ditch,  then  the  roadster  turned  abruptly  on  her 
side,  and  Ellen  was  spilled  out,  with  Gibbs  on  top  of 
her. 

The  girl  had  hardly  time  for  a  moment  of  hideous 
apprehension  and  panic  before  she  was  on  her  feet 
again,  with  his  arm  about  her,  laughing  with  the 
revulsion  and  the  shock.  The  skid  had  saved  them, 
for  the  car  was  turned  at  an  exact  angle,  and  so  had 
slipped  with  her  lights  firmly  wedged  against  the 
further  side  of  the  ditch,  and  had  no  opportunity  to 
turn  turtle,  as  she  must  otherwise  have  done. 

For  a  few  confused  moments  Ellen  hid  her  dazed  face 
in  the  fur  of  the  man's  shoulder;  no,  she  really  wasn't 
hurt,  she  had  landed  on  her  shoulder,  honestly  she  was 
not  hurt,  it  just  hurt  her  for  a  moment,  that  was  all! 
And  it  had  scared  her 

Gibbs,  reassured,  began  to  nurse  a  wrenched  wrist 
of  his  own,  and  to  discuss  the  accident  with  the  two 
carmen  and  the  truck-driver  with  the  usual  anger  and 
threats.  What  was  the  sense  of  blowing  a  whistle 
right  into  the  horses'  ears 

"You  was  passing  too  close  to  the  edge  of  the  road, 
anyway!"  shouted  the  motorman  furiously.  Upon 
Gibbs  taking  his  number,  he  blew  his  whistle  again, 
and  banged  triumphantly  down  the  line.  The  truck- 
driver,  a  little  frightened,  standing  at  the  horses'  heads, 
expressed  his  satisfaction  that  the  lady  wasn't  hurt,  and 
drove  away.  A  policeman,  coming  up  with  a  few 
interested  stragglers,  was  noncommital. 

"You's  driving  pretty  fast,"  he  said  calmly,  to  Ellen's 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  57 

indignation.  "You  mustn't  take  chances  with  them 
heavy  cars.  You  might  easy  have  been  killed,  both  you 
and  your  wife.  You  don't  want  to  do  that,  you  know." 

"You've  bust  your  front  spring,  Mister,"  volun 
teered  a  youth  gaily. 

"I  know  I  have,"  Gibbs  said  savagely.  "You  poor 
little  thing,"  he  added  tenderly  to  Ellen.  "I've  scared 
you  to  death!" 

"Oh,  it  feels  all  right,  now,"  she  said  quickly,  but  she 
was  white,  and  still  shaken  from  the  narrow  escape. 
He  read  her  expression  truly. 

With  only  one  worried  glance  at  her,  he  set  about 
extricating  them  from  the  difficult  position  as  rapidly 
as  possible.  The  gay  boy  was  left  in  charge  of  the  car, 
and  Gibbs  caught  up  Ellen's  suitcase,  as,  still  in  their 
heavy  coats,  they  started  on  foot  to  the  nearest  garage. 

Fortunately  this  was  not  far  away,  and  from  here 
Gibbs  sent  mechanics  back  to  the  roadster,  and  en 
gaged  a  taxi  cab  to  take  Ellen  and  himself  as  far  as  the 
subway  at  Van  Cortlandt  Park.  The  girl  protested 
against  his  accompanying  her  all  the  way,  she  was  quite 
able  to  take  care  of  herself  now,  but  he  would  not 
listen  to  her,  and  when  they  reached  the  city,  finding 
that  they  had  forty  minutes  to  spare  before  the  train  at 
twenty  minutes  past  six,  he  took  her  to  the  Vanderbilt 
tea  room,  and  ordered  tea. 

All  the  while  he  was  praising  her,  not  only  in  words, 
but  with  his  appreciative  eyes,  and  in  the  sudden  cheer 
fulness  that  the  averted  tragedy  inspired  in  him.  He 
talked  to  her  frankly  and  gaily;  she  was  a  good  sport, 
she  had  really  shown  incredible  nerve.  And  they  had 
had  a  great  day,  hadn't  they? — since  they  missed  the 
train  from  Hastings. 


£8  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"I  had  to  put  the  car  up  anyway,"  he  reassured  her. 
"I  never  use  it  much  in  winter,  and,  as  I  told  you,  as 
soon  as  my  mother's  estate  is  all  settled  up,  I  may  go 
abroad." 

"And  your  wrist?"  Ellen  asked,  her  radiance 
returning  with  the  hot  tea  and  the  felicitous  hour. 

"That — I  don't  know  which  one  it  is!  No,  we're  out 
of  it  all  very  nicely,  Miss  Purple  Eyes." 

"Purple  Eyes  mean  trouble,"  Ellen  said,  smiling. 

"Oh,  you  know  that  story?  I  didn't  think  your 
generation  did.  Well,  I  hope  this  day  hasn't  meant 
all  trouble  to  you." 

Ellen  looked  down  at  her  plate.  He  could  see  the 
betraying  crimson  creep  under  her  wild  rose  pink- 
and-whiteness. 

"It's  been  a — wonderful  day!"  she  said,  hardly 
above  a  whisper. 

Perhaps  the  man's  first  impulse  was  to  lay  his  hand 
over  the  small  hand  that  lay  on  the  table  not  far  from 
his  own,  and  say  something  that  should  meet  her  mood. 
It  was  not  the  only  time  that  Gibbs  Josselyn  had  had 
such  an  opportunity,  it  was  the  first  move  in  a  game 
that  he  had  played  with  supreme  success  for  many 
years. 

But  he  did  not  want  to  play  that  game  with  Ellen. 
There  was  no  conscious,  idle  flirtatiousness  in  those 
lowered  blue  eyes,  no  coquetry  in  that  honest  little 
Irish  mouth.  It  could  bring  her  no  joy,  it  might — it 
must  bring  her  pain — to  know  Gibbs  Josselyn  well. 
No,  let  her  have  this  day's  adventures  to  keep,  an  un 
clouded  memory,  and  let  the  story  end  here.  She  had 
played  her  part  fairly,  and  he  would  play  his,  too. 

So  he  let  the  moment  pass,  and  presently  a  ta*\  was 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  59 

had,  and  a  large  bunch  of  violets;  there  was  barely  time 
at  the  train  for  laughing  good-byes.  Ellen  glanced 
back  when  she  had  passed  the  gate:  he  was  watching 
her,  and  as  their  eyes  met  he  gave  her  his  disturbing 
smile  again,  and  again  raised  his  hat. 

"He's  thirty — or  more,  and  every  woman  he  knows  is 
in  love  with  him,"  said  Ellen  to  herself,  settling  down  in 
the  train.  "It's  been  wonderful — it's  been  heavenly, 
and  I'll  never  see  him  again!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

AUNT  ELSIE  and  Joe  and  even  the  old  Captain 
listened  to  Ellen's  tired  and  excited  recital  that  night; 
the  woman  exclaiming  over  descriptions  of  meals  and 
clothes,  the  old  man  and  the  young  anxious  to  grasp 
exactly  what  happened  to  the  car.  Aunt  Elsie  hoped 
that  Ellen  had  thanked  that  young  man  for  bringing 
her  down  in  his  car,  and  Ellen  sat  up  after  the  others 
had  gone  to  bed  and  wrote  a  pretty  note  of  thanks  to 
Mrs.  Rose.  She  said  that  she  and  Mr.  Josselyn  had 
had  a  "spill  in  the  snow,"  but  that  fortunately  no  harm 
was  done;  it  had  been  a  lovely  run. 

After  the  letter  was  gone  she  sat  reflecting;  could 
she  with  any  propriety  write  Gibbs?  She  knew 
she  could  not.  She  knew  that  he  would  read  her 
motive  in  doing  so  as  clearly  as  if  she  wrote  the  words : 
"I  like  you.  I'm  not  married,  and  you're  not  mar 
ried.  I  don't  want  to  let  you  go." 

She  gave  up  the  idea,  and  put  her  letter  to  Mrs.  Rose 
by  the  clock,  to  be  mailed  in  the  morning,  and  went 
to  bed,  twisting  and  turning  because  the  wrenched 
shoulder  had  begun  to  ache,  but  finally  falling  into 
deep,  exhausted  sleep  between  the  cold  sheets,  too  tired 
to  dream. 

Joe  mailed  the  letter  the  next  morning,  and  stopped 
at  the  drugstore  on  the  way  back,  for  Ellen  could  not 
twist  her  sore  shoulder  into  her  dress,  and  came  down- 
Stairs  in  her  wrapper.  After  breakfast,  in  the  coffee- 

00 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  61 

scented  dining  room,  Aunt  Elsie  investigated  the 
shoulder  with  kind,  hard  fingers,  and  Ellen  winced 
and  moaned.  Joe  came  back  with  the  liniment,  and 
the  shoulder  was  rubbed,  and  Ellen  lay  on  the  hard  lit 
tle  settee  all  morning,  trying  to  prop  pillows  under  her 
aching  neck. 

Her  aunt  and  the  Captain  prophesied  that  it  would 
get  better  immediately,  and  a  day  or  two  went  by. 
Ellen  lay  patiently  through  the  long  day-time  hours, 
and  wept  with  pain  in  the  night.  A  night  came  when 
Mrs.  Baldwin,  looming  fantastic  in  the  shadow  of  a 
kerosene  lamp  against  Ellen's  wall,  threatened  in  a 
worried  tone  to  call  the  doctor  in  the  morning. 

By  this  time  the  girl  was  in  such  agony  that  she 
only  wanted  to  wail  because  the  doctor  could  not  be 
called  then,  on  the  instant,  in  all  the  lonely  cold  and 
terror  of  the  night.  But  a  doctor  was  an  unusual 
thing  in  the  Latimer  house  and  her  aunt  went  slowly 
back  to  bed  hoping  that  she  would  "get  some  sleep." 

Morning  came,  and  Ellen's  one  fear  was  that  her 
aunt  would  forget.  She  brushed  her  hair  with  her  left 
hand,  and  washed  her  face  with  icy  water,  and  went 
downstairs  in  her  wrapper  again.  Seven  o'clock.  The 
doctor  could  not  possibly  come  until  nine. 

Mrs.  Baldwin  did  not  forget.  She  persisted  that  it 
was  either  a  cold  in  the  shoulder,  or  a  "wranch,"  or 
"the  stiffneck."  But  she  sent  Joe  for  the  doctor  after 
breakfast,  and  Ellen  felt  better  when  she  knew  Joe  had 
gone.  Her  aunt  aired  the  dining  room,  anticipating 
the  call,  and  had  everything  in  order  long  before  nine. 
But  it  was  almost  noon  when  the  busy  doctor  came  in, 
and  sat  down  by  Ellen's  side  with  a  smile  of  kindness 
and  reassurance. 


62  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

That  was  the  beginning.  Ellen,  who  had  never  been 
in  a  doctor's  hands  before,  smiled  up  at  him  uncom 
fortably  as  his  skilled  fingers  pressed  and  explored. 
She  made  a  rueful  face  when  she  heard  her  fate.  She 
must  lie  absolutely  still  for  an  unspecified  number  of 
days,  perhaps  a  week.  Mrs.  Bradley  afterward  told 
some  intimates  that  she  mistrusted  Ellen  was  in  for 
a  bad  spell  when  Doctor  Older,  who  was  fresh  from  the 
city  hospital  himself,  said  that  he  was  going  to  see  an 
old  doctor  in  the  city  who  was  a  spine  authority  in  a 
day  or  two  and  discuss  Ellen's  case  with  him. 

The  preliminaries  of  a  long  illness  are  almost  always 
wretched  for  the  patient.  Before  the  rebellious  soul 
and  body  will  accept  the  situation,  before  the  house 
hold  has  adjusted  itself  to  the  altered  needs  and  the 
altered  hours,  before  the  physician  himself  has  judged 
,his  patient's  capacity  for  endurance,  the  responsiveness 
to  remedy  and  opiate,  hours  of  misery  must  be  borne. 

Ellen  was  suffering  acutely,  she  was  mystified  and 
shocked,  and  she  was  heartsick  at  the  hideous  possibility 
she  suspected  under  the  young  doctor's  frankly  trou~ 
bled  manner.  Her  bedroom  was  cold,  she  slept 
badly,  and  she  was  lonely.  All  the  books  in  the  house 
she  had  read  a  dozen  times;  there  was  no  member  of 
the  family  to  whom  it  occurred  that  Ellen  might  be 
hungry  for  books;  it  did  not  indeed  occur  to  her. 
Joe  came  in  to  see  her  for  a  few  minutes  twice  a  day, 
her  grandfather  once,  her  aunt  kept  the  room  clean, 
and  brought  her  trays  she  could  hardly  touch.  Fe 
vered,  restless,  dazed  with  lack  of  sleep  and  with  the 
effect  of  the  medicine  that  controlled  the  worst  of  the 
pain,  she  would  stare  at  them  dully. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  65 

"What  say,  dear?"  her  aunt,  flushed  from  the  kit 
chen,  would  bend  over  her  to  ask  kindly. 

"If  you'd  just  straighten  up  these  covers,  Auntie, 
it  hurts  my  neck  so  to  move " 

"Ain't  you  going  to  eat  no  more  than  that,  Ellen?** 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you !  The  custard  was  delicious;  that 
was  enough!" 

Gradually  she  reached  the  second  stage,  and,  if 
hope  died  within  her  then,  as  to  the  future,  at  least  she 
found  the  present  more  bearable.  Not  as  a  whole, 
for  her  soul  shrank  from  the  horror  of  the  thought 
that  she  might  never  walk  free  and  young  through  the 
garden,  and  into  Main  Street  again. 

But  she  grew  to  enjoy  the  little  pleasures  of  the  day., 
There  was  a  tiny  white  pill  at  night  that  sent  her  off 
into  dull,  delicious  sleep,  there  was  a  kerosene  stove 
that  warmed  the  icy  bedroom;  her  gratitude  for  a  water 
bag.  to  be  brought  her  gloriously  hot  three  or  four  times 
a  day,  was  out  of  all  proportion  to  its  cost.  The  doctor 
suggested  most  of  these  things,  and  Aunt  Elsie  de 
lighted  in  capably  adding  them  to  her  domestic  system. 

Aunt  Elsie  brushed  and  braided  the  cloud  of  soft 
hair  that  had  hung  about  Ellen's  hot  face  for  the  first 
few  days,  and  began  to  take  a  certain  pride  in  her  in 
valid.  And  Ellen's  girl  friends  began  to  come  sym 
pathetically  in,  and  presently  there  were  so  many  books 
to  read  that  Ellen  used  to  find  herself  wondering  when 
she  would  have  time  for  them.  Her  trays  had  a  dif 
ferent  soup  and  jelly  for  every  day  in  the  week. 

A  few  days  before  Christmas  the  New  York  spec* 
ialist  came  down,  and  was  friendly  and  informal  to  a 
degree  that  enchanted  Aunt  Elsie,  He  could  say  little 


64  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

more  than  Doctor  Older.  Miss  Latimer  had  done 
something  mysteriously  harmful  to  one  of  the  delicate 
vertebrae  at  the  very  base  of  the  brain.  It  was  an 
unusual  case;  he  asked  Ellen  how  she  would  like  to  see 
her  bones  described  in  a  journal  of  medicine. 

The  girl  quivered  into  the  invalid's  invariable 
question. 

"Doctor — do  you  think — can  you  give  us  any  idea — 
it  can  be  cured,  can't  it?" 

"Almost  anything  can  be  cured.  We  had  a  curious 
case  in  the  hospital  last  week.  Did  one  of  the  boys 
tell  you  about  that,  Older?  They  brought  a  child 
in " 

He  launched  into  a  most  diverting  story.  When  it 
was  told  Ellen  tried  to  bring  him  back  to  her  own  case. 

"DoctorOlder  tells  me  that  you  want  to  be  an  artist," 
said  the  specialist  for  answer.  "Now,  there's  nothing 
to  prevent  you  from  going  right  on  with  your  work 
here.  Get  out  your  pencils,  and  don't  bother  your  head 
about  your  back!  You're  not  having  so  much  pain, 
now 

"Not  unless  I  move,"  Ellen  faltered,  feeling  the 
tears  of  bitter  disappointment  press  behind  her  eyes. 

Doctor  Older  immediately  began  to  discuss  a  sort 
of  harness  he  was  having  made  for  the  neck,  and  when 
the  city  man  had  highly  approved  this  experiment,  the 
two  went  away.  Only  Ellen  knew  the  bitter  desola 
tion  they  left  behind  them;  and  the  long  hours  in  the 
night  she  lay  sobbing  over  what  in  her  dark  hour  she 
thought  the  death  of  hope. 

But  hope  was  born,  and  died  again,  a  hundred 
agonizing  times,  in  the  days  to  come.  The  harness 
gave  her  blessed  relief,  although  its  ugly  brownness, 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  65 

pressing  up  against  her  white  face,  was  a  hurt  to  her 
girlish  pride.  And  on  Christmas  Day,  with  Joe's  help, 
the  doctor  moved  her  down  to  the  dining  room,  where 
a  wide  couch  had  been  placed  for  her. 

After  that  she  came  downstairs  every  day,  and 
Aunt  Elsie  and  Joe  helped  her  tenderly  upstairs  every 
night.  And  there  were  hours,  whole  days  sometimes 
between  the  moods  of  revolt  and  resentment,  when 
she  found  a  new,  odd  flavour  of  joy  in  her  life.  She 
grew  nearer  Joe,  in  the  long  evenings  when  they 
laughed  over  their  games — Parchesi,  and  Halma,  and 
cribbage,  the  first  tenderness  any  one  had  ever  seen  in 
Joe  was  awakened  by  his  inarticulate  pity  for  his  pretty 
sister.  Aunt  Elsie,  too,  found  that  an  unexpected 
sympathy  existed  between  her  and  her  niece.  Ellen 
listened  interestedly  to  her  village  gossip,  to  her 
speculations  as  to  affairs  local,  and,  having  nothing 
else  to  do,  Ellen  exerted  herself  to  amuse  the  village 
women  who  came  in,  and  began  to  reach  eagerly  for 
the  village  babies,  laughing  in  pure  delight  as  she  un 
wrapped  the  little  soft  bodies,  and  pressed  her  pale, 
warm  cheeks  to  the  rosy  little  unresponsive  faces. 

But  it  was  the  Captain  who  proved  the  real  surprise 
of  the  illness.  The  old  man  was  not  talkative,  nor 
had  he  ever  been  gracious  in  manner.  But  he  liked 
company,  and  when  he  found  that  Ellen  would  smile 
for  ten  minutes  over  something  he  had  found  her  in  his 
old  leather  trunk,  or  picked  up  for  her  on  the  shore,  he 
began  to  turn  toward  her  for  companionship.  He 
liked  to  watch  her  play  solitaire  at  night,  advising  her 
over  his  pipe,  and  sometimes  when  the  hour  she  dreaded 
came,  in  the  early  winter  darkness,  and  soul  and  body 
seemed  at  low  ebb,  when  the  last  red  sunlight  dropped 


66  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

abruptly  from  the  framed  picture  of  Franklin  at  the 
Court  of  France,  and  touched  Aunt  Elsie's  sewing  ma 
chine,  and  was  gone,  when  a  chill  crept  into  the  close, 
darkening  room,  and  it  was  too  early  for  the  dinner 
stir,  and  the  lamp,  and  when  the  little  familiar  thread 
of  pain  worked  its  weary  way  back  to  her  tired  head, 
lie  seemed  to  realize  her  utter  need,  and  he  would 
begin  long  tales  of  wreck  and  mutiny,  stories  that  won 
Ellen  to  interest  in  spite  of  herself. 

"Never  mind,  Ellin,"  said  the  kindly  old  voice  one 
day.  "Tide's  bound  to  come  back,  ye  know.  And, 
as  the  sailors  say,  it's  putty  generally  at  low  tide  that 
ye  find  things  wuth  pickin*  up!" 

"That's  poetry,  Grandpa,"  the  girl  said,  smiling 
with  pleasure.  "And  it's  true,  too." 

"Ye  do  get  better,  don't  ye?"  he  asked,  with  a  sharp 
look  over  his  glasses. 

"Oh,  I  think  I  do.  I  don't  know  when  the  doctor 
means  to  let  me  take  this  collar  off,  and  while  it's  on  of 
course  I  can't  tell!  But  Saturday  night,  when  I  was 
having  a  bath,  Auntie  took  it  off  for  a  few  minutes,  and  I 
almost  died  until  it  was  on  again!" 

Her  grandfather  was  watching  her  closely,  with 
bright,  anxious  old  blue  eyes. 

"Never  mind!"  he  said.  "First  thing  ye  know 
ye'll  be  jumping  in  and  out  of  here  again  like  a  fiddler's 
elbow!"  And  he  returned  to  nis  paper  comforted, 
because  Ellen  laughed  again. 

Almost  every  hour  something  took  her  thoughts  to 
Gibbs  Josselyn  and  the  adventurous  day  that  had 
been  her  last  day  free  from  pain.  At  first  it  had  seemed 
that  he  must  know,  that  he  had  a  right  to  know,  whi:t 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  67 

the  accident  had  cost  her,  and  that  his  Miss  Purple 
Eyes  had  come  to  know  what  trouble  was,  after  all. 
She  longed — ah,  how  she  longed,  for  his  splendid 
concern  and  sympathy.  There  were  whole  hours 
when  she  lay  and  dreamed  of  it,  his  shock,  his  horror, 
his  visits,  and  his  flowers. 

Sometimes  the  wording  of  the  letter  she  knew  she 
would  not  write  flitted  through  her  mind.  "Dear  Mr. 

Josselyn I   know  you  will  be  sorry — something 

that  seems  to  puzzle  the  doctors — the  pleasant  land 
of  counterpane " 

But  she  did  not  write.  Pride  kept  her  silent.  She 
would  not  send  him  the  three  lines  that  must  buy  his 
friendship.  If  that  was  to  come  to  her,  it  would  come. 
She  dared  not  beg  for  it. 

And  honest  as  she  was  to  the  core,  Ellen  knew  that 
her  motive  in  keeping  silent  was  not  quite  unmixed. 
,The  note  might  bring  him  straight  to  her,  it  was  true. 
"But  suppose  he  did  not  in  the  least  realize  that  her  life 
had  been  crushed  and  altered  in  the  one  brief  moment 
of  terror  and  shock  they[had  laughed  over  and  so  quickly 
forgotten?  Suppose  he  said  to  himself  that  he  was 
sorry,  and  it  was  a  pity  and  nothing  more  ?  Then  • 
she  would  lose  not  only  the  future,  but  the  bright  and 
precious  memory  of  the  past.  He  might  be  in  France 
now,  for  all  she  knew.  He  might  crumple  the  little 
letter  and  toss  it  aside  wondering  why  girls  were 
all  alike,  each  one.  reaching  out  in  her  own  way  for  a 
man's  attention  and  admiration. 

Again,  he  might  respond  to  the  little  appeal  with  all 
the  generous  ardour  that  she  knew  was  in  him,  waiting  to 
be  stirred.  He  might  come  straight  down  to  the  house 
in  Main  Street 


68  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

To  find  Aunt  Elsie,  opening  the  door,  suspicious  of 
his  errand,  and  find  the  dining  room  overheated  and 
unaired,  and  find  Joe's  boots  oiled  and  drying  by  the 
air-tight  stove,  and  adding  their  odour  to  the  other 
odours • 

And  to  find  Ellen,  his  rosy  companion  of  the  furs  and 
the  laughter,  a  small  white-faced  thing  under  a  patch 
work  quilt,  with  brown  leather  straps  under  her  chin 

Reaching  this  point  in  her  thoughts,  Ellen  would 
give  a  little  shudder.  Better  that  he  should  never 
know.  Better  that  she  had  never  crossed  his  path,  or 
he  hers.  But  for  that  memorable  week-end  she  might 
be  going  to  the  Yacht  Club  dance  with  Willa,  Bobby 
Carnival,  and  the  Henshaws  to-night,  she  might  be 
in  the  Mardi  Gras  Kermess  that  was  to  convulse  and 
enchant  the  village  next  week.  And  summer  was 
coming,  a  summer  without  driving  and  tennis  and 
swimming  for  Ellen! 

She  must  lie  still  while  the  others  boated  and  danced 
and  played  without  her.  She  must  be  a  witness  now 
to  what  had  seemed  so  commonplace  a  few  months 
before,  and  seemed  so  sweet  and  full  a  life  now.  Willa's 
new  evening  gown,  and  the  suspicion  that  Olive  Car 
roll  was  really  beginning  to  return  Bobby  Carnival's 
devotion,  and  the  secret  that  Mary  Pitcher,  the  wife  of 
a  year,  had  told  Ellen  in  a  winter  twilight — what  mir 
acles  of  simple  happiness  all  these  were! 

She  must  lie  still,  the  old  physical  joy  in  living  gone, 
and  the  old  peace  of  mind  gone,  too.  For  Bobby  and 
the  Henshaws  seemed  changed  now,  and  in  the  back  of 
her  heart  and  the  back  of  her  mind  there  lingered  the 
disturbing  vision  that  had  displaced  them:  the  memory 
of  a  cultivated  voice;  of  deep  kind  eyes,  and  silver  hair; 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  69 

of  clever,  groomed  hands.  There  lingered  the  hurting 
knowledge  that  certain  doors  were  closed  to  Ellen' 
Latimer,  that  certain  lips  spoke  a  language  she  could 
not  understand,  that  there  was  a  world,  so  near  her 
own,  where  her  mere  youngness  and  goodness  and  will 
ingness  to  learn  could  win  her  no  place.  Other  keys 
were  needed  for  those  doors,  and  through  no  fault  of  her 
own,  Ellen  had  not  those  keys. 

Mrs.  Rose  had  gone  to  Bermuda,  and  later,  according 
to  the  news  columns  of  a  morning  paper,  would  leave 
her  daughter,  whose  pre-debutante  year  had  been  one 
of  exceptional  delights,  in  school,  while  she  visited 
friends  in  California.  The  check  for  Ellen's  expenses  had 
arrived  promptly  during  the  first  week  of  the  year, 
however,  and  had  been  the  cause  of  some  serious  de 
bate  in  the  Latimer  house. 

Ellen  wished  to  send  it  back,  with  a  note  explaining 
the  circumstances.  The  warm-hearted  Mrs.  Rose 
might  show  her  sympathy  in  some  decided  way,  might 
even  mention  Ellen's  sad  situation  in  some  quarter 
through  which  it  would  reach  Gibbs  Josselyn. 

But  Mrs.  Baldwin,  quite  unsuspicious  of  this  vague 
thought  in-  her  niece's  mind,  suggested  that  the  check 
simply  be  banked  for  the  time  when  Ellen  could  use  it. 
No  use  distressing  her  generous  friend  with  a  tale  of 
misery  for  which  she  was  indirectly  responsible,  and 
which  she  could  not  help.  Ellen  would  be  well,  one  of 
these  days,  and  perhaps  the  money  might  be  used  for 
some  special  course,  this  midsummer,  which  would  en 
able  her  to  start  in  her  regular  work  in  the  fall. 

Ellen  agreed  to  this  somewhat  reluctantly.  The 
girl  hungered  for  the  romantic  and  dramatic;  life  thrust 


70  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

her  back  resolutely  into  the  commonplace,  do  what 
she  might.  But  she  was  learning  patience  and  self- 
control,  coming  to  believe  that  what  made  for  happiness 
and  harmony  here,  in  the  old  house,  was  her  first 
concern. 

During  a  cold  wet  week  in  March  she  realized  that 
her  aunt  was  worrying  about  something,  and  with  the 
quick  sensitiveness  of  the  invalid,  she  felt  the  instant 
effect  on  her  own  spirits. 

"Well,  the  truth  is,  money  don  t  grow  on  trees," 
Mrs.  Baldwin  admitted,  opening  the  stove  to  thrust  in 
another  wet  stick  of  wood.  "And  several  bills  have 
come  in,  and  your  Grandpa  was  frettin'  about  them  a 
little.  I  say  that  doctors  are  accustomed  to  waitin', 
and  let  'em  wait  until  summer,  when  his  dividends 
come  in.  There's  no  sense  in  touching  your  capital- 
unless  you  have  to." 

Ellen  had  never  given  money  a  serious  thought  be 
fore.  She  supposed  that  there  was  plenty,  perhaps 
half-supposed  that  Aunt  Elsie  and  Grandpa  lived  in 
this  simple  fashion  because  they  preferred  it. 

"We  could  rent  a  couple  of  rooms  all  summer,  and 
more  than  make  it  up  that  way!"  pursued  Mrs.  Bald 
win.  "I've  kept  boarders  before  this.  You  see  be 
tween  the  little  Grandpa  has  put  away,  and  poor  Mr. 
Baldwin's  insurance,  and  having  no  rent  to  pay,  we 
have  about  eighty  or  ninety  dollars  a  month,  Ellen,  and 
dear  knows  that's  enough!  But  now  here's  one  bill 
for  forty-two  dollars,  and  that  harness  seventeen-fifty, 
and  the  city  doctor's  twenty  for  that  one  call,  and  the 
drugstore  bill  of  course  considerable — nine  dollars 
and  something,  I  think — and  it  kind  of  gets  on  Grand 
pa's  mind!" 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  71 

Ellen  fought  a  wave  of  bitter  heartsickness  and 
rebellion.  Oh,  it  was  too  much — it  was  too  much! 
To  endure  and  endure,  to  be  silent,  to  be  brave,  and 
yet  to  be  a  burden  on  these  loyal  hearts,  powerless 
to  raise  one  hand  to  help  them!  She  had  a  swift 
thought  of  Lucia,  of  the  beautiful  Doris — 

"I'm  so  sorry,  Auntie,"  she  said,  after  a  silence. 
"But  if  you  did  take  boarders,  I  believe  I  could  really 
help.  I  could  shell  peas  and  peel  apples  and  do  all  the 
mending,  anyway — 

Mrs.  Baldwin,  who  had  been  standing  at  the  window, 
with  her  arms  rolled  in  her  apron,  and  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  steadily  falling  rain,  turned  suddenly  about, 
and  for  almost  the  first  time  in  her  life  Ellen  saw  tears 
in  the  faded  blue  eyes. 

"I  declare,  Ellen,"  said  the  older  woman,  trying  to 
laugh.  "You  beat  everything!  I  wouldn't  have  any 
more  trouble  laid  on  your  poor  little  shoulders  for  all 
the  money  in  Christiandom —  'Tisn't  really  the 
money  that's  got  on  Grandpa's  mind,  it's  seeing  you 
lay  there,  you  poor  scrap!  And  you  do  melt  me  all 
up,  rememberin'  your  way  when  you  was  well  and 
strong,  talkin'  meekly  about  shellin'  peas  and  darnin* 
socks !  If  we  could  see  you  startin'  off  for  town  pretty 
and  happy  like  you  used  to  be,  I  guess  Pa  and  I  could 
make  out  well  enough  somehow!" 

With  which  Mrs.  Baldwin  whisked  out  of  the  room, 
to  tell  Minnie  Rodney,  presently,  when  Minnie  came  in 
to  tell  her  all  about  Al's  baby,  that  she  never  had  seen 
a  character  soften  like  Ellen  Latimer's  had  softened  the 
last  few  months. 

Left  alone,  Ellen  put  her  thin  hand  over  her  eyes 
for  a  few  minutes,  and  cried  quietly.  Presently  she 


n  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

groped  under  her  pillow  for  her  handkerchief,  and 
wiped  her  eyes,  and  said  an  earnest  little  prayer.  And 
after  that,  hearing  Minnie's  voice,  she  called  out  cheer 
fully  to  hear  about  the  baby,  and  Minnie  and  her 
Aunt  came  gladly  in  to  tell  her. 

The  prayer  was  answered,  as  such  prayers  always 
are.  Three  weeks  later,  in  the  last  heavy  snow  of  the 
year,  a  letter  with  a  California  postmark  came  to 
Ellen,  and  she  called  her  aunt  to  share  the  new  plan. 

"It's  from  Mrs.  Rose,  in  answer  to  one  I  wrote  her 
last  month.  They're  just  starting  for  Honolulu,  and 
she  writes  so  sweetly  about  my  accident  and  all.  And 
she  says  that  of  course  I'm  to  use  that  money  for  any 
thing  in  the  world  that  will  make  things  easier,  so  you 
tell  Grandpa  to-night  that  I  won't  have  a  happy  min 
ute  until  he's  paid  all  my  miserable  bills  with  it! 
And  she  says  that  if  they  go  to  Japan,  she's  going  to 
send  me  the  prettiest  kimono  she  can  find!" 


CHAPTER  V 

APRIL  was  rainy,  and  May  was  rainy,  but  the  miracle 
of  the  year  went  on  despite  the  rain.  Between  warm 
showers,  Ellen,  at  the  window,  could  hear  the  peepers 
shrilling  in  Baxter's  woods,  and  the  sweet  rush  of  the 
freed  waters  in  the  creek.  Then  came  the  children's 
eager  voices  as  they  hunted  for  violets,  and  the  lin 
gering  of  the  light  on  an  occasional  sunlighted  afternoon 
almost  until  the  supper  hour.  A  film  of  green  showed 
on  the  hard  dark  earth  of  the  garden  and  against  the 
bare  limbs  of  the  trees,  and  sweet  wild  winds  swept 
over  the  world  with  the  odour  of  damp  turned  soil 
and  bursting  buds  in  their  wake. 

Then  suddenly  there  were  still  hot  days,  when  bang 
ing  screen  doors  and  the  distant  crowing  of  cocks 
brought  a  foretaste  of  summer,  the  sky  was  high  and 
blue,  and  the  plum  trees  in  the  front  yard  looked  like 
enormous  popcorn  balls.  All  the  windows  were  open, 
and  a  scent  of  lilacs  drifted  through  the  house;  a  new 
fruit-store,  sure  sign  of  summer,  opened  in  Main 
Street,  and  young  voices  began  to  echo  again  through 
the  early  evening  darkness. 

And  Ellen,  a  little  thin  and  limp,  but  dressed  and 
radiant,  had  a  comfortable  chair  under  the  lilac  tree, 
and  waved  now  and  then  at  friendly  passers-by  in  the 
street.  She  had  a  book,  but  often  she  sat  dreaming 
blissfully,  with  the  pages  unturned,  for  hours  at  a  time. 
No  book  was  half  so  exciting  as  was  a  slow  walk  to  the 

73 


74  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

gate,  with  a  stop  on  the  way  back  to  gather  herself  a 
dozen  violets,  or  a  plume  of  lilac.  Spring  had  never 
seemed  half  so  lovely,  or  the  world  so  kind. 

"We  ought  to  be  content  just  to  know  it's  coming 
back  every  year,  Joe,  with  the  flowers  and  the  fruit 
blossoms!" 

"But  gosh,  we  aren't!"  Joe  made  her  laugh  by 
answering  seriously,  one  day. 

"If  I  could  have  someone  to  love  me,  and  a  little 
place  of  my  own  to  work  in,  and  a  garden  like  this,  I 
know  I  wouldn't  want  any  more,  Joe!" 

"You'll  get  married!"  Joe  said  a  little  uneasily, 
smiling  at  her. 

"Well,  I  didn't  mean  exactly  that,"  El'en  answered 
thoughtfully.  "I  meant  that  I  hope  this  winter  had 
taught  me  not  to  care  about  the  little  things/' 

"Gosh — I'll  never  be  happy!"  Joe  burst  out  bit 
terly.  Ellen  did  not  take  the  little  tumble-headed 
brother  in  the  sweater  too  seriously.  Joe  would  read 
of  an  actor,  and  ache  to  be  an  actor;  read  of  Panama, 
and  yearn  for  linen  clothes  and  tropical  leisure;  pore 
over  pictures  of  cadets  at  West  Point  with  envious 
eyes.  Even  the  portrait  of  a  President's  young  son, 
displayed  in  a  Sunday  pictorial  supplement  to  the  news 
paper,  would  stir  Joe  to  keen  discomfort.  "Look  at 
the  boob,  with  his  hunting  whip  and  his  dogs,"  Joe 
would  sneer,  "he  thinks  he's  something!  Gee,  some 
body  must  like  him,  to  pay  someone  for  painting  that!*' 

The  glory  of  the  year  deepened  swiftly,  and  joy  kept 
pace  with  it  in  Ellen's  heart.  The  harness  was  long 
gone,  the  couch  was  upstairs  again,  and  only  a  cush 
ioned  rocking-chair  in  its  place.  Ellen  could  sweep 
the  garden  path  again,  with  her  blue  sunbonnet  over 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  75 

her  eyes.  Ellen  could  cut  out  cookies  on  condition 
that  she  went  straight  upstairs  and  lay  down  for 
an  hour  afterward.  Except  that  she  usually  went  to 
bed  at  eight  o'clock,  and  avoided  the  more  violent 
forms  of  youthful  amusement,  Ellen  might  live  her 
old  life  again. 

But  it  would  never  be  the  old  life.  It  was  so  en 
riched  and  so  enhanced  by  the  five  long  months  in 
prison  that  Ellen  felt  sensations  of  freedom  absolutely 
birdlike,  warmth  and  flowers  and  blue  sky  intoxicated 
her.  Leonard  Henshaw,  for  whose  attentions  she  had 
wistfully  longed  a  year  ago,  was  her  captive  now,  but  she 
did  not  want  to  marry  Leonard  Henshaw.  She  only 
wanted  to  be  alive,  and  to  claim  her  work  and  play 
among  the  living  again. 

May  thirtieth,  always  a  great  day  in  Port  Washing 
ton  annals,  broke  cloudless,  and  found  all  the  village 
already  in  holiday  mood.  Tides  of  human  life,  even  as 
early  as  seven  o'clock,  began  to  turn  toward  the  water, 
there  were  picnics,  boating-parties,  barbecues  afoot; 
not  a  girl  or  boy  in  the  village  was  without  a  golden 
plan  for  the  day.  Manhasset  Bay,  as  blue  and  smooth 
as  blue  silk,  under  the  high  arch  of  the  sky,  was  dotted 
with  craft  of  every  description:  big  steam  yachts,  and 
houseboats,  two  or  three  fleets  of  anchored  smaller 
sailboats,  and  the  usual  busy  traffic  of  rowboats, 
launches,  canoes,  and  even  crude  rafts,  working  their 
ways  like  water  bugs  through  the  softly  moving 
passage-ways. 

To-day  the  yacht  clubs  would  go  into  commission  at 
high  noon,  with  every  imaginable  form  of  gaiety  to  do 
honour  to  the  occasion.  At  the  Port  Washington  Club» 


76  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

i 

where  Ellen  and  her  friends  would  presently  gather, 
there  were  to  be  swimming  races,  a  great  outdoor 
luncheon,  a  baseball  game  between  the  married  and 
the  unmarried  men,  moving  pictures,  games,  and  prizes 
for  the  small  children,  a  dance  until  long  after  mid 
night,  and,  of  course,  the  raising  of  the  colours,  and 
the  yacht  race  that  were  the  nucleus  for  the  whole 
day's  celebration. 

Ellen  was  taken  down  by  the  Henshaw  boys,  in  their 
car,  at  eleven  o'clock,  and  was  under  parole  not  to 
race,  even  if  she  swam,  not  to  "crew"  even  if  she 
sailed,  not  to  enter  the  tournament,  even  if  she  played 
tennis,  and  to  be  home  at  five  o'clock  to  get  three  hours' 
rest  before  the  dance.  But  long  before  Ellen  was 
awake  there  were  men  on  every  one  of  the  anchored 
yachts,  whistling  and  shouting  to  each  other  as  they 
groomed  the  brass  work  and  the  decks,  and  straightened 
rigging.  Pails  of  dancing  emerald  water  were  hauled 
on  board,  and  pails  of  dirty  soapy  water  were  flung 
back  into  the  green  deeps  again;  ropes  banged  against 
wood,  and  sails  were  shaken  out  in  the  first  fresh 
breeze  of  the  morning.  Patient  youths  untangled  long 
strings  of  flags  on  the  pier;  old  Captain  Larimer,  in  his 
glory,  and  Joe,  gravely  content  to  putter  in  the  warm 
ing  sunlight  on  the  damp,  heaving  raft,  were  authorities 
here,  and  consulted  alike  by  old  mariners  and  by  cal 
low  youths  who  petted  their  "Stars"  as  if  they  were 
fragile  women. 

By  ten  o'clock  strings  of  colour  were  fluttering  every 
where,  women  with  baskets  were  gathering  on  the  club 
house  porch,  eager  boats  were  cutting  about  the  pier- 
end  like  restless  gulls,  and  the  silent  Commodore,  with 
a  trimly  uniformed  figure  and  a  trimmed,  gristled  beard, 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  77 

was  circulating  among  the  hilarious  men,  women,  and 
children  with  a  smile  of  utter  approval  on  his  kindly  old 
face.  Tenders,  loaded  to  their  capacities,  were  making 
for  the  yachts  now.  Presently  the  colours  went  up, 
fluttering  gayly  against  the  blue,  and  the  cannon, 
fired  from  the  grassy  mound  before  the  clubhouse,  was 
answered  by  twenty  booming  shots  from  the  boats. 
As  the  detonation  died  away  the  band  burst  madly 
into  sound,  and  thirty  young  figures  plunged  from  the 
pier  end  for  the  first  swim,  to  pull  themselves  upon  the 
float  a  moment  later  as  sleek  as  seals,  and  add  their 
shrieks  and  laughter  to  the  general  uproar. 

If  Ellen  Latimer,  one  of  the  seals,  who  was  warning 
Bobby  Carnival  that  if  he  pushed  her  into  the  water 
again  he  would  be  sorry  for  it  the  longest  day  of  his  life, 
had  chanced  to  glance  toward  The  Eaglet,  one  of  the 
visiting  yachts  in  the  bay,  anchored  three  hundred 
yards  away  from  her,  she  might  at  this  moment  have 
received  a  shock.  For  a  man  with  a  thick  mop  of 
silvered  hair  under  a  visored  yachting  cap  was  stand 
ing  there,  yawning  happily  in  the  warm  sunshine,  look 
ing  with  appreciative  eyes  at  the  bay  and  the  shore  in 
the  soft  hazy  morning  of  what  was  to  be  a  hot  day,  and 
in  particular  at  the  brilliant  picture  presented  by  the 
little  club. 

Gibbs  Josselyn,  if  he  had  been  through  no  such 
schooling  as  Ellen  in  the  last  few  months,  had  suffered, 
too,  in  his  own  way.  Like  Ellen,  he  had  seemed  to  lose 
his  place  in  the  world,  with  his  father's  marriage,  his 
resignation  from  his  father's  firm,  and  the  transplanting 
from  his  father's  house  to  his  club.  Sensitive  and 
proud,  he  found  the  attitude  of  his  intimates  equally 
distasteful,  whether  they  sympathized  with  him  or  criti- 


78  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

cized  him,  he  missed  his  work,  and  found  no  incentive 
to  take  up  anything  new. 

Beside  the  fire  in  his  mother's  drawing  room,  amus 
ing  the  men  and  women  she  drew  about  her,  he  had  been 
in  an  atmosphere  infinitely  stimulating  to  what  was 
fine  in  him.  He  missed  it,  and  in  none  of  the  homes 
where  he  was  welcome  did  he  find  it  again. 

Without  his  realizing  it,  the  pretty  little  Miss  Lat- 
imer's  rapture  at  the  thought  of  Paris  had  touched 
him.  She  was  not  flirting,  like  Lucia,  she  was  dead  in 
earnest,  the  bright-eyed,  rosy  little  enthusiast.  Gibbs 
had  more  than  once  caught  himself  wishing  that  she 
might  have  the  Paris,  at  twenty-three,  that  lay  open  to 
his  hand,  and  found  him  lukewarm,  ten  years  later. 

He  went  to  Maine,  and  modernized  a  seaside  farm 
house  for  an  old  friend  whose  wife  made  love  to  him 
and  thereby  deeply  annoyed  him;  he  drifted  into  an 
other  friend's  office,  and  earned  his  undying  gratitude 
by  designing  some  factory  cottages,  and  superintend 
ing  their  erection  at  Newark,  New  Jersey.  And 
then  he  chanced  to  come  to  Manhasset  harbour  with 
George  Lathrop  and  George's  motherless  boy  and 
girl  in  time  for  the  opening  of  the  clubs  on  Decoration 
Day. 

George,  Junior,  presently  leaping  out  of  the  cabin 
ready  for  swimming,  the  older  men  followed  suit,  and 
Gibbs,  whom  the  boy  adored  blindly  in  all  things,  passed 
him  in  the  fresh  dancing  water,  and  dragged  himself 
up  on  the  anchored  raft  at  the  side  of  the  club  pier, 
where  they  got  into  conversation  with  a  boy  in  a  dirty 
gray  sweater,  who  was  sitting  there  idly  in  the  sun. 

"This  is  going  to  be  the  girls'  race  now,"  said  the 
boy.  when  he  and  George,  Junior,  had  discussed  sev-r 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  70 

eral  important  matters.  "They'll  all  line  up  here,  and 
dive,  and  swim  to  the  float,  and  touch  it,  and  then 
swim  back." 

"Well,  we'd  better  get  out  of  the  way!'*  George, 
Senior,  suggested.  But  the  son  begged  eagerly:  "Aw, 
Dad,  let's  stay  and  see  the  race.  He  says  that  after  the 
girls,  the  boys  race,  and  I  wanter  see  it!" 

"Sit  up  here  under  the  pier,  and  keep  out  of  their 
way,  then!"  Gibbs  suggested.  The  boy  with  the 
sweater  approved,  saying:  "We're  all  right  over 
here!" 

On  the  pier,  the  crowd  was  gathering  to  watch  the 
races,  and  presently  a  dozen  slender  laughing  girls  in 
wet  bathing-suits  formed  a  line  on  the  edge  of  the  float, 
and  at  the  crack  of  the  pistol  were  into  the  water  with 
one  shout,  and  tearing  like  so  many  salmon  for  the 
swimmers'  float.  The  sweatered  boy  was  now  heard 
to  observe  to  George,  Junior: 

"That's  my  sister  out  there  on  the  float.  She  could 
beat  'em  all !  She  g^t  first  prize  last  year,  and  two  years 
ago." 

"She's  very  decent  to  keep  out  of  it,  then!"  Gibbs 
said  casually.  "And  if  she's  that  one  with  all  the  dark 
hair,  she's  pretty." 

"She  fell  out  of  an  automobile,  and  hurt  her  spine, 
and  they  won't  let  her  swim  yet,"  said  the  boy. 

"I  don't  know  what  she's  doing  in  that  rig,  then," 
Gibbs  observed. 

"Oh,  well,  she  swims,  but  she  can't  race!" 

Gibbs  thought  the  big,  loosely-built  country  fellow 
had  a  most  engaging  smile,  and  paid  small  attention 
to  his  words  at  the  moment.  He  questioned  the  boy 
about  the  other  races,  and  promised  George,  Junior, 


80  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

that  he  would  watch  the  "Stars*'  get  off  at  three 
o'clock.  Meanwhile  Ellen,  wrapped  in  a  mantle  of 
drying  black  hair,  was  rocking  herself  back  and  forth  on 
the  float,  discussing  the  races,  and  congratulating  the 
winner.  Perhaps  she  noticed  the  two  strange  men  and 
the  boy  who  dived  suddenly  from  the  anchor  float,  but 
as  this  chanced  to  be  the  moment  when  the  Henshaw 
boys,  with  two  girl  passengers,  elected  to  upset  their 
canoe,  it  was  probable  that  she  saw  nothing  of  the  visi 
tors. 

Later,  when  she  and  Aunt  Elsie  were  busy  at  the 
lunch-tables  that  had  been  built  on  the  green  between 
the  clubhouse  and  the  tennis-courts,  and  with  a  score 
of  other  women  were  cutting  cakes,  helping  salad, 
and  pouring  coffee,  Joe  lounged  up  to  them,  gorging  on 
sandwiches,  interested  in  all  other  forms  of  food,  and 
even  willing  to  be  useful  in  some  not  too  conspicuous 
way. 

"Take  that  mashed  piece,  Joe — that's  about  the 
best-looking  chocolate  cake  I  ever  set  knife  to!"  said 
his  aunt.  "Where  you  been  all  day,  dear?  Now  you 
stay  right  here  where  I  can  lay  my  hand  on  you,  and 
I'll  send  you  down  shipyardway  with  something  for 
Grandpa,  I  don't  s'pose  we  could  drag  him  up  here 
with  a  span  of  horse." 

"There's  a  feller  on  one  of  the  yachts  that  ast  me  to 
come  out  with  a  boat,  about  four  o'clock,  and  bring  him 
in  to  get  cigarettes  and  ice  and  butter  and  things," 
Joe  volunteered. 

"You  told  him  the  stores  were  all  closed  until  six?" 
Ellen  asked  quickly.     Her  brother  looked  blank. 

"Gee — I  am  a  fool —  "  he  murmured  penitently. 
"Gosh,  now  what  can  I  do  about  that?" 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  81 

"Go  down  and  get  into  a  canoe  or  something," 
Ellen  advised,  "and  go  out  and  tell  him.  He  can  get 
anything  at  six,  they'll  be  open  an  hour  then." 

"I  guess  I'll  do  that,"  Joe  said,  and  securing  another 
triangular  wedge  of  cake,  and  putting  seven  or  eight 
moist,  thin  sandwiches  in  his  pocket,  he  was  gone. 
Ellen,  who  followed  him  down  to  the  shore  with  some 
lunch  for  her  grandfather,  saw  the  little  motor-boat 
he  had  informally  borrowed  churning  out  to  the  yacht, 
and  sauntered  back  to  the  lunch-tables  with  him  when, 
he  returned. 

"That  was  awfully  nice  of  you,  Joe,  I  hope  he  ap 
preciated  it?" 

"Sure  he  did.  He  said  he  was  much  obliged,  and 
please  to  come  at  six,  then.  He  asked  me  my  name, 
and  I  said  Latimer.  I  get  sick  of  this  'Joe — Joe — Joe* 
business.  Every  wop  in  the  place  is  named  Joe! 
Gosh,  that  kid  with  them  must  have  things  pretty 
easy.  His  sister  was  there,  a  little  kid — but  Gosh, 
she  was  a  pippin!  Harriet!  She's  about  ten  or  twelve 
with  her  hair  all  hanging  round!" 

Ellen  laughed,  and  laughed  again  when  Joe,  re 
turned  to  the  lunch-table,  began  a  fresh  attack  upon 
the  food.  For  the  young  Latimers  the  episode  seemed 
closed.  And  yet  not  only  to  Ellen,  and  to  Gibbs 
Josselyn,  but  to  Joe  and  the  innocent  Harriet  of  the 
hanging  locks,  the  hour  was  filled  with  possibilities, 
and  never  to  be  stricken  from  the  calendar  of  the 
four  lives  again. 

For  Gibbs  had  caught  the  name  Joe  called  to 
George  Lathrop,  Senior,  and  had  mused  upon  it. 

"Latimer — that's  funny.     Latimer  and  Port  Wash- 


82  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

ington — he  might  be  her  cousin  or  something.  I  sup 
pose  the  same  names  run  through  all  grades  in  these 
old  country  places.  If  he  comes  at  six,  I'll  ask  him  if 
he  knows  my  little  lady.  I'd  like  to  see  that  serious 
little  girl  again.  What  the  deuce  was  her  first  name, 
did  she  tell  me?  What  did  Mrs.  Rose  call  her? — 
Helen,  that  was  it!" 

"Is  there  any  one  down  here  named  Helen  Lat- 
imer?"  he  duly  asked  Joe,  late  in  the  sweet  summer 
afternoon,  when  the  races  were  over,  and  the  wilted 
merrymakers  had  climbed  home  through  the  quiet, 
steep  village  streets,  and  the  fast-sinking  sun,  over 
beyond  Great  Neck,  was  touching  the  flags  with  a 
last  bath  of  splendid  colour.  Gibbs  and  Lathrop, 
Senior,  were  alone  with  the  boy,  for  the  children  had 
elected  to  stay  on  the  yacht.  But  Joe  was  clean  and 
shaven  now,  his  white  shirt  open  to  show  the  fine 
brown  column  of  his  neck,  and  his  thick  hair  brushed 
and  dampened  into  something  like  order.  Joe  had 
thought  that  the  lovely  Harriet  might  come  with 
them,  and  was  nursing  a  secret  disappointment. 

"No,  sir.  I  guess  my  Grandfather  and  my  sister 
and  I  are  the  only  ones  of  that  name,"  Joe  answered, 
after  a  moment's  thought. 

"I  believe  I'll  get  an  old  place  'round  here  some 
where,"  George  Lathrop  said.  "And  keep  the  kids 
down  here  next  summer.  They  could  swim,  and  have 
some  sort  of  a  boat." 

"Do  'em  both  a  world  of  good,"  Gibbs  said  ab 
sently.  "You  never  heard  of  a  lady  named  Mrs. 
Rose — Mrs.  Sewall  Rose  ? "  he  presently  asked  Joe. 

"Sure  I  did!"  Joe  said,  smiling.  "She's  the  lady 
that  got  my  sister  started  in  the  art  school!" 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  83 

"Well,  of  course!"  Gibbs  was  surprised  at  his  own 
pleasure  in  identifying  her  at  last.  "Your  sister, 
that's  it!  And  what  is  her  name?" 

"Ellen,"  Joe  smiled. 

"Ellen,  of  course!"  Gibbs  echoed.  "Well,  how  is 
she?" 

"Oh,  she's  all  right  now,"  Joe  answered  carelessly. 
"If  you're  coming  ashore  for  the  dance  to-night,  you'll 
see  her.  She  can't  dance,  except  just  a  little,  but  she's 
going  down." 

"I  hardly  think  we  will  come  in  for  the  dance," 
Gibbs  answered.  "Funny — she  looks  as  if  she  could 
dance!  But  you  give  her  my  love — Mr.  Josselyn, 
will  you?" 

"My  boy  is  bursting  to  get  in  to  that  dance,"  Lath- 
rop,  Senior,  smiled  to  Joe.  "But  we  can't  very  well 
bring  the  boy  and  leave  the  girl  alone " 

"I  should  think  the  little  girl  could  look  on  for 
awhile,"  Joe  said,  suddenly  hoarse. 

At  the  dinner  table,  when  the  men  had  accom 
plished  their  marketing,  and  were  back  on  the  yacht, 
George  Lathrop  asked  Gibbs  if  he  had  noticed  that 
boy.  That  was  no  sort  of  boy  to  be  knocking  about 
the  water-front  of  a  small  fishing  village,  he  had  an 
exceptionally  fine  face. 

"I'd  like  to  get  hold  of  a  boy  like  that,  and  keep  him 
about  the  place,"  Lathrop  said,  enthusiastically.  "It 
would  be  the  making  of  George." 

"Well,  if  you  like  the  Soy,  I  assure  you  you'd  be 
amazed  at  the  sister,"  Gibbs  said.  "She's  a  little 
beauty;  dainty,  clever,  quick  as  a  whip!  I  take  it 
they're  the  best  sort  of  American  blood,  come  of  a  long 
line  of  simple,  decent  people " 


84  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

" What's  the  matter  with  her?"  Lathrop  asked. 

"The  matter  with  her — how  d'you  mean?"  Gibbs, 
who  was  mixing  a  salad  dressing,  looked  up  sharply. 

"Why,  she's  sickly,  or  something,"  his  host  answered 
innocently.  "Didn't  you  hear  the  boy  say  this  morn 
ing  that  she  couldn't  swim  any  more,  and  just  now, 
didn't  you  hear  him  say  that  she  couldn't  dance? 
I  suppose  you  have  to  have  kids  of  your  own  to  notice 
that  sort  of  thing?" 

"He  said  she'd  been  in  a  motor  accident,  and  hurt 
her  spine,"  little  George  said.  "But  she  got  the  prize 
for  swimming  last  year,  and  second  prize  in  the  ladies* 
singles What  is  it,  Uncle  Gibbs?" 

For  Gibbs  had  laid  down  his  fork  and  was  staring 
at  him  strangely. 

"Great  Lord!"  he  said  in  a  horrified  undertone. 
"But  that  couldn't  be!"  And  as  they  all  looked  at 
him  in  surprise,  he  turned  toward  his  host.  "You 
remember  when  my  car  was  in  a  smash-up,  last  Novem 
ber,  George?"  he  said.  "It  just  occurred  to  me — it 
just  occurred  to  me  that  that  little  girl  was  with  me! 
I  don't  suppose  there's  one  chance  in  a  thousand  that 
that  was  where  she  got  hurt — I  don't  suppose  there's 
one  chance  in  a  million " 

He  got  up  and  walked  to  the  cabin  window.  The 
sunset  gun  had  fired,  the  banners  were  lowered,  Port 
Washington  was  dotted  with  lights  in  the  early  dark 
ness,  other  lights  mirrored  themselves  in  the  quiet  bay. 

"I  guess  you  and  I  will  have  to  go  over  and  have  a 
look  at  that  dance,  George,"  he  said. 

It  was  a  night  made  for  youth,  and  beauty,  and  the 
innocent,  radiant  egotism  of  beauty  and  youth.  Ellen. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  85 

knew,  when  the  girls  told  her  she  looked  perfectly 
adorable,  that  they  spoke  no  more  than  the  truth. 
To  her  happy  eyes  they  all  looked  adorable,  and  she 
truthfully  returned  their  compliments.  Ellen  was  in 
palest  pink,  her  gown,  of  silky,  cloudy  frailness,  had  cost 
forty  cents  a  yard  for  eight  yards,  but  as  the  girl  had 
decided  that  it  was  to  be  "severe" — a  word  she  often 
repeated  with  a  sort  of  dimpling  severity  in  her  own 
manner — and  trimmed  with  nothing  but  the  wide, 
soft  hems  that  finished  its  deep,  soft  ruffles,  it  had  not 
proved  a  too  expensive  garment  after  all.  And  her 
slippers  were  pink,  and  her  stockings  pink,  and  as  every 
other  girl  had  miraculously  achieved  a  similar  har 
mony  in  colour,  they  looked  like  a  flower  garden  in  full 
bloom,  and  fully  deserved  all  the  praise  that  the 
escorting  boys  could  not  find  time  enough  between 
bursts  of  laughter  and  gales  of  chatter  to  whisper  to 
them. 

The  air  was  still  soft  and  warm,  and  sweet  with  the 
odour  of  trampled  fresh  grass.  About  the  club  there  lin 
gered  still  the  happiness  of  the  long  hot  day.  In  the 
darkness  water  lapped  gently  at  the  pier,  the  sky  was 
spattered  thick  with  stars,  and  there  were  lights  here  and 
there  along  the  Great  Neck  shore,  and  a  long  line  of  them, 
lying  like  a  necklace  down  at  Plum  Beach.  Even  far  off 
toward  Hart  Island  and  the  Connecticut  side  of  the  Sound 
lights  were  discernible,  and  presently  there  would  be  a 
moon  to  shed  an  actual  enchantment  over  the  world. 

Gibbs,  his  host,  and  both  the  children  came  ashore 
in  the  rowboat  of  The  Eaglet  at  eight  o'clock.  Lath- 
rop,  Senior,  had  friends  among  the  club  members,  and 
was  quickly  taken  to  the  heart  of  Port  Washington's 
younger  set.  He  was  a  democratic  man,  and  he  liked 


86 

to  see  his  daughter's  blonde  locks  bobbing  over  the 
shoulder  of  the  boy  who  had  rowed  the  boat  that  after 
noon.  Gibbs  had  declined  to  enter  the  ballroom  at 
once,  and  had  remained  on  the  porch  to  finish  his 
cigarette. 

From  the  darkness  here  he  watched  the  dancers,  and 
he  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  Ellen,  in  her  pale  pink 
ruffles,  with  her  exquisite,  radiant  face.  She  was  not 
dancing,  although  the  blue  eyes  and  the  pink  slippers 
evidently  longed  to  dance,  and  when  Gibbs  first  saw 
her,  was  talking  prettily  to  some  older  woman  with 
great  gravity  and  attention.  A  youth  came  up  and 
she  transferred  her  earnest  gaze  to  him,  and  presently 
Gibbs  felt  a  quick  sensation  of  almost  pain  near  his 
heart  as  her  face  brightened  into  an  actual  laugh. 

Another  man  was  smoking  quietly  beside  him,  and 
after  a  while  Gibbs  asked  him,  just  for  the  pleasurer 
of  hearing  the  answer,  the  name  of  the  pretty  girl  in 
pink  ? 

"That's  Miss  Ellen  Latimer — her  grandfather  is  one 
of  our  old  Captains,  here — quite  a  character,"  said  the 
other  man,  in  a  slow,  pleasant  voice.  "They're  making 
a  great  fuss  over  the  girl  to-night;  she  hasn't  been  at  a 
dance  for  six  months!  She  gave  herself  a  very  ugly 
dislocation  of  the  spine.  I  began  to  think  she  wasn't 
going  to  get  over  it.  I  happen  to  be  her  doctor " 

"That  must  have  been  an  unusual  case,"  Gibbs 
said,  to  lead  him  on.  The  other  man  was  launched  at 
once.  His  listener  presently  could  form  an  idea  of  the 
little,  inconvenient  house,  the  suffering  girl,  the  endur 
ance,  the  patience,  the  cruel  doubts  and  delays.  He 
pleased  the  doctor  with  his  warm  congratulations 
upon  the  cure,  and  when  the  medical  man  had  excused 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  87 

himself,  to  go  and  dance  with  his  wife,  Gibbs  stayed 
on  at  the  window,  watching  the  pink  ruffles  again. 

So  sweet,  so  young,  so  innocently  fresh  and  good! 
Gibbs  wondered  whether  summer  and  moonlight  had 
gotten  into  his  blood,  as  he  felt  it  run  warmer  at  the 
sight  of  her.  Too  dignified  to  write  him  what  a  day  of 
pleasure  had  cost  her,  too  honest  to  make  capital  out 
of  the  fortuitous  chance,  she  could  adjust  her  little 
affairs  with  courage  and  character,  and,  having  chosen 
her  path,  pursue  it  to  the  end. 

The  man  who  won  Ellen  Latimer  would  be  a  lucky 
man,  he  thought,  with  a  curious  wistfulness.  It  was  a 
wonderful  thing  to  think  that  there  were  still  in  the 
world  purity,  and  simplicity,  and  goodness,  character, 
clean  standards — 

And  suddenly,  with  an  unaccustomed  flush  of  colour 
in  his  face,  the  question  sprang  into  his  heart  full  formed. 
Suppose  such  a  girl  could  come  to  care  for  a  man  like 
him  ?  Where  could  he  find  anything  better,  or  sweeter, 
or  more  rich  in  promise  for  the  years  to  come  ?  He  was 
tired  of  the  old  life,  he  had  never  really  cared  for  the 
false  standards,  the  superficial  women,  the  intriguing, 
shallow  girls,  the  show  and  glitter  and  cost.  To  put 
his  arm  about  that  lovely  young  body,  to  feel  her  close 
to  him  as  she  raised  her  flower-like  face  for  his  kiss,  to 
see -Ellen  in  the  sort  of  gowns  he  could  design  for  her, 
crouched  beside  a  studio  fire — crossing  an  old  garden  in 
spring —  Nothing  in  months  had  so  stirred  his  old 
delight  in  living  as  the  thought  of  pleasing  her,  spoiling 
her,  finding  the  untouched  deeps  of  her  joy  always 
fresh.  How  she  would  love  to  shop  with  him,  to 
read  the  books  he  loved,  to  meet  the  few  old  friends 
he  really  valued! 


88  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

They  would  find  some  old  farmhouse  in  this  neigh 
bourhood,  and  he  would  make  it  over  with  white  paint 
and  old  draperies,  and  he  might  have  his  easel  there — 
Ellen  could  paint,  too — she  had  told  him  of  her 
dreams 

Suddenly  the  plan  was  born.  Paris!  They  would 
go  to  Paris,  and  there  they  could  both  work,  and  could 
make  for  themselves  a  life  nothing  short  of  the  ideal. 
A  dim  old  studio,  one  of  those  clever  maids  who  de 
light  in  the  cooking  art,  summers  idling  in  Brittany 
or  Holland.  And  the  lovely  young  Mrs.  Josselyn,  a 
picture  in  gipsy  hats  and  summer  smocks,  or  velvet, 
childish  winter  gowns,  would  fill  his  life  with  sweetness, 
and  inspiration,  and  everything  that  was  clean  and 
good  and  honest. 

He  had  for  her  the  awe  that  any  man  feels  for  an  inno 
cent  girl.  To  Gibbs  Josselyn  it  would  have  seemed 
unbelievable  that  she  could  imagine  him  essentially 
her  superior.  Older  he  was,  and  more  experienced, 
but  he  balanced  these  things  against  her  youth  and 
beauty,  and  felt  the  exchange  perhaps  a  little  less  than 
fair.  Money,  position,  and  power,  the  good  things  of 
life  had  been  his  since  the  hour  of  his  birth,  but  he  had 
had  success  and  unsuccess  in  his  work;  sorrow,  as  well 
as  joy;  enemies  no  less  than  friends,  and  in  this  hour  of 
real  humility  he  felt  himself  a  rather  commonplace 
fellow,  with  only  his  hands  and  his  mother's  little 
fortune  of  a  few  thousand  dollars  to  offer  the  woman 
he  made  his  wife. 

He  crossed  the  porch  to  the  door  of  the  ballroom 
as  the  dance  ended,  and  met  her,  in  the  group  of  girls 
and  boys  who  were  coming  out  for  a  breath  of  cooler 
air.  She  was  talking  to  another  girl,  but  she  saw  the 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  89 

strange  man,  and  turned  her  bright  eyes  curiously  to 
ward  him.  Then  she  stopped  speaking,  and  one  hand 
went  with  a  quick  gesture  to  her  heart,  and  in  the  dim 
ness  he  saw  her  white  breast  rise  suddenly,  and  her 
lips  part  a  little. 

He  got  her  hand,  and  held  it,  and  still  she  did  not 
speak,  merely  stood  breathing  high,  and  looking  stead 
ily  at  him. 

Gibbs  found  his  own  voice  curiously  unmanageable. 
He  cleared  his  throat. 

"Ellen!"  he  said. 

Another  dance  began,  and  another,  and  yet  another. 
And  through  them  all  Ellen  and  Gibbs  sat  on  the  dark 
porch,  over  the  softly  moving  water,  and  talked  with 
that  desperate  deep  relief  that  pilgrims  know  who  find 
fresh,  icy  springs  after  the  parching  desert,  or  mothers 
know  who  weep  beside  the  bedside  of  the  child  that  will 
live. 

It  seemed  to  Ellen  that  all  her  life  had  been  only  a 
preparation  for  that  talk.  Gibbs's  arm  was  about  her, 
on  the  porch  rail,  and  slipped  over  the  pink  gown  was 
his  big  soft  coat,  faintly  redolent  of  tobacco.  Behind 
them  long  screens  had  been  placed,  to  shut  the  porch 
into  darkness,  and  farther  down  its  length  other 
gowns,  of  blue  and  white,  were  protected  by  other 
coats.  But  the  two  in  the  corner  saw  and  heard  noth 
ing  but  themselves,  unless  now  and  then  they  noticed 
the  moonlight  that  was  making  the  bay  seem  like 
some  detached  and  floating  segment  of  fairyland,  or 
heard  the  quiet  plop  of  oars  as  some  small  boat  slip 
ped  silently  over  the  water. 

Sometimes  he  made  her  laugh,  and  she  would  flash 


90  JOSSELYN'S  WIPE 

him  a  look  from  averted  blue  eyes,  and  bring  all  her 
dimples  into  sudden  play,  and  often  she  made  him 
laugh,  and  would  regard  him  with  delicious  childish 
seriousness  until  his  mirth  was  explained.  But  for 
the  most  part  they  were  serious,  there  was  much  to 
explain,  much  that  was  sad  and  poignantly  sweet  to 
remember,  and  with  eloquent  looks  and  monosyllables 
they  relived  it  all,  and  found  it  inexhaustibly  wonder 
ful  and  strange. 

And  at  midnight,  true  to  her  promise,  Ellen  was 
driven  away,  by  Leonard  Henshaw,  her  hand  still 
warm  from  the  touch  of  Gibbs's  big  hand,  her  shoulder 
still  feeling  the  pressure  of  his  protective  arm,  her  heart 
and  mind  and  soul  in  a  whirl  of  starshine.  Leonard 
could  make  nothing  of  her;  like  all  her  friends  he  ex*- 
pected  some  explanation,  facetious  or  serious,  of  hei 
curious  conduct  to-night,  but  Ellen  was  in  a  dream. 
She  merely  smiled  at  his  hints,  left  him  with  hardly  a, 
good-night,  and  floated  into  her  own  doorway  like 
something  bewitched.  She  undressed,  wrapped  in  ? 
sort  of  love  for  the  gown  and  the  hair  and  the  eyes 
Gibbs  had  praised,  and  lay  down  on  her  small  white 
bed  and  extinguished  her  light  so  promptly  that  her 
restless  aunt,  in  the  next  room,  felt  a  sensation  of 
gratitude. 

But  Ellen  had  no  time  to  waste  with  sleep  to-night. 

Nor  did  Gibbs  sleep.  He  sat  outside  his  stateroom 
far  into  the  morning,  smoking,  thinking,  smoking  again. 
At  about  four  o'clock,  when  a  faint  hint  of  dawn  was 
glimmering  into  the  darkness,  George,  Senior,  looked 
yawning  out. 

"For  the  Lord's  sake — old  man!" 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  91 

"I  know — I'm  coming  now."  Gibbs  arose,  cold, 
yawning,  and  stretching.  "I  know,"  he  apologized, 
smiling.  And  coming  near  to  the  tousled  and  pajama- 
clad  form  of  his  friend  he  said  with  a  certain  boyish 
appeal  in  his  voice:  "I'm  awfully  happy  about  some 
thing,  George,  and  awfully — sort  of  scared.  Wish  me 
luck,  old  man!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

"ToMMY,  dear,"  the  little  mother  in  the  big  blue  coat 
said  presently,  lifting  the  child  from  her  lap,  and  setting 
him  upon  his  own  sturdy  legs  on  the  deck,  "run  and  tell 
Dad  that  Mother  wants  to  see  him!  Tell  him  we're 
almost — almost — in  !  " 

Her  voice  rose  almost  to  song  on  the  last  phrase,  and 
although  the  child  was  already  out  of  hearing,  her 
nearest  neighbour,  an  elderly  woman  also  comfortably 
stretched  in  a  deck  chair,  heard  her  and  smiled. 

"You  sound  glad  to  be  back,  Mrs.  Josselyn!"  said 
she. 

"I  didn't  know  how  glad  I  was  going  to  be,"  admitted 
Ellen  Josselyn,  her  happy  eyes  leaving  the  prospect  of 
the  dark  waters  of  tfie  harbour  mouth,  and  the  unmis 
takable  approach  of  the  solid  blue  shadows  that  mean 
land.  "I  don't  want  Mr.  Josselyn  to  miss  the  first 
sight  of  Ellis  Island  and  the  Liberty  statue,  and  all 
the  skyscrapers!" 

"Ah,  we've  an  hour  before  we'll  see  them!"  smiled 
the  older  woman.  And  she  added  with  a  sigh:  "I 
wish  I  could  be  spared  the  homecoming,  myself.  I've 
friends  here — but  no  one  very  close!  And  Italy  is 
home  to  me  now.  I  remember  arriving  years  ago 
with  Mr.  Benson,  my  husband — long  before  my 
daughter's  marriage,  and  death.  But  I  really  hardly 
feel  myself  an  American  now." 

"I   know!"     Ellen  said,  warmly  sympathetic.     "I 

92 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  93 

feel  that  myself.  Mr.  Josselyn  and  I  went  abroad 
the  very  day  after  our  marriage,  and  that  was  six  years 
ago  last  October.  We've  lived  in  France  all  this  time. 
Tommy  was  born  there,  and  when  we  decided  to  come 
back  to  America  I  felt  a  sort  of  terror,  actually!  It 
seemed  much,  much  harder  than  the  original  uprooting, 
strangely  enough!  I  never  have  been  homesick  for 
America,  but  I'm  homesick  already  for  France!  And 
yet,  now  that  we're  almost  in,  I'm  beginning  to  be 
terribly  thrilled!" 

"My  daughter's  husband  has  married  again,"  the 
other  woman  said,  as  little  interested  in  Ellen's  history 
as  Ellen  was  in  hers.  "She's  very  nice  to  the  little 
boys " 

Her  voice  died  away  on  a  dissatisfied  note.  Ellen 
let  her  eyes  rest  on  the  tumbling  water  again,  and  the 
nearing  land.  America  again!  Thirty-fourth  Street 
again,  Central  Park  again;  after  all,  it  was  home.  She 
had  curiously,  vaguely  dreaded  it,  she  had  had  her  times 
of  hoping  never  to  return,  and  yet  now  she  felt  a  sudden 
thrill  and  a  rush  of  something  like  rapture  in  her  heart. 

She  was  an  older  Ellen,  at  twenty-nine,  and  an  as 
tonishingly  developed  Ellen.  The  six  years  had  made 
a  woman  of  her,  and  a  woman  of  intelligence  and  charm. 
Travel  and  study  had  done  their  share,  joy  had  had  its 
part  in  the  change,  and  sorrow,  too.  They  had  been 
full  and  glorious  years,  and  looking  back,  Ellen  saw 
them  as  years  of  almost  unclouded  happiness.  Wife- 
hood  had  brought  her  generous  nature  only  what  was 
fine  and  good,  motherhood  had  brought  her  the  boy 
that  was  the  core  of  her  heart.  And  motherhood  had 
brought  sorrow  as  well,  for  little  Tom  had  had  a  sister 
for  a  few  happy  months,  three  years  ago,  and  the  baby^ 


$4  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

grave,  in  a  strange  cemetery,  was  never  long  out  of 
Ellen's  thoughts. 

But  that  was  the  only  shadow.  Otherwise,  it  was  all 
gain.  The  radiant  girl  that  had  sailed  with  Gibbs  from 
this  same  harbour  more  than  six  years  ago  had  not 
been  an  exacting  wife.  There  was  no  background  of 
spoiling  and  selfishness  to  make  Ellen  Josselyn  a  dif 
ficult  woman  to  live  with.  Her  joyous:  "Oh,  Gibbs, 
won't  that  be.  fun!"  had  charmed  him,  and  perhaps  a 
little  touched  him,  a  thousand  times  in  those  first  days. 
Everything  was  delight  to  her,  the  ship,  the  new  friends, 
the  new  gowns.  Her  eyes  and  heart  were  never  tired  of 
•  new  impressions. 

Paris  was  all  she  had  ever  dreamed  for  her  life,  much, 
much  more  than  her  brightest  dream.  They  saw  it 
first  in  the  languid  airs  of  autumn,  and  were  snugly 
settled  in  the  roomy  apartment  on  Mont  Saint  Etienne 
long  before  the  first  snow.  Ellen  had  danced  in  her 
joy  at  finding  the  four  perfect  rooms,  the  big  studio 
with  its  view  of  roofs  and  river — for  they  were  on  the 
sixth  floor — the  two  bedrooms  that,  if  small,  were 
sunny,  and  the  kitchen  where  Yvonne  was  queen. 

Yvonne  was  a  Lilloise,  a  big,  red-cheeked,  mighty- 
armed  grandmother,  whose  ideas  of  housekeeping  and 
cooking  made  Aunt  Elsie  seem  but  an  extravagant 
beginner.  She  was  an  artist,  and  she  loved  her  art. 
The  Josselyns,  renting  their  apartment,  and  engaging 
Yvonne,  had  said  to  each  other:  "If  we  don't  like  the 
house,  or  if  she  doesn't  suit,  why,  we  can  easily  change!" 

But  they  never  moved,  and  never  dreamed  of  parting 
with  Yvonne.  Life  fell  into  a  groove  of  joy  and  com 
fort  undreamed  by  Ellen,  and  unequalled,  Gibbs  said, 
in  his  own  experience.  Yvonne  was  no  hireling,  she 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  95 

v/a&  their  loyal  and  passionately  devoted  guardian. 
She  watched  their  meals,  their  health,  their  clothes,  and 
their  pocket-book  jealously.  And  when  Tommy  came, 
and  Ellen  brought  him  in  triumph  from  the  American 
Hospital,  Yvonne  had  a  daughter  waiting  to  be  a  per 
fect  nurse  for  Tommy.  Indeed,  when  the  baby  was 
three  months  old,  and  terrifying  feeding  problems 
began,  did  she  not  produce  a  good-natured  peasant  of 
a  daughter-in-law,  who  would  leave  her  own  home  and 
baby  to  give  Tommy  a  little  help  over  a  rough  bit  of 
*-oad  ? 

And  before  Tommy  came,  and  afterward,  and  al« 
ways,  how  wonderful  life  was  for  Ellen!  Exploring 
the  magic  city,  with  her  hand  in  Gibbs's.arm,  watching, 
content  and  ambition  mark  new  lines  in  his  face,  hear 
ing  him  say,  a  dozen  times  a  day,  that  she  had  given 
him  back  his  life;  her  happy,  grateful  heart  was  only  too 
full.  He  began  to  work  at  once,  and  for  awhile  she 
worked,  too.  But  swiftly  she  saw  that  her  earnest 
and  clever  beginning  was  as  that  of  a  promising  child. 
There  were  ten  thousand  girls  in  Paris  who  could  do 
what  Ellen  could  do. 

Gibbs  was  a  genius,  she  never  doubted  it,  and  it  was 
only  a  year  or  two  after  they  came  to  Paris  that  his 
world  began  to  see  it,  too.  He  went  straight  at  his 
portrait  work,  and  he  lived  only  for  that,  and  for  her. 
About  them,  on  the  left  bank  of  the  river,  were  swarm 
ing  hundreds  who  were  working  as  hard  as  they,  and 
some  of  these  were  their  friends.  And  Ellen,  watching 
other  women  struggle  and  despair,  in  loneliness  and 
poverty,  wondered,  with  her  old,  sweet,  childish  sur 
prise,  why  God  had  been  so  good  to  her. 

She  had  her  warm  little  home,  safe  above  the  struggle, 


96  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

she  had  Yvonne  to  baby  her  if  ever  a  dull  hour  came, 
or  a  moment's  pain  or  doubt.  She  might  put  her  warm 
little  glove  over  the  wet,  cold  hand  of  some  other 
woman,  and  leave  a  coin  there,  and  say,  from  the  ful 
ness  of  her  heart:  "I'm  so  sorry!  Go  get  yourself 
some  hot  coffee —  She  might  watch,  with  half-sad, 

half-fascinated  eyes,  the  dramas  that  went  on  about 
them,  in  the  streets  and  the  cafes,  with  Gibbs  at  her 
side,  big  and  tender  and  protecting. 

And  presently  she  had  Tommy,  and  they  were  play 
ing  at  housekeeping  in  the  tiniest  of  little  lost  villages 
in  Brittany.  These  were  days  of  sunshine,  while 
Gibbs,  wonderful  in  knickerbockers  and  a  paint- 
smeared  smock,  painted,  and  Yvonne  walked  bare 
headed  to  market,  and  Ellen  played  under  twisted  old 
trees  with  Tommy.  Tommy  had  no  nurse  but  his  pic 
turesque  little  mother  now,  for  Ellen  was  thrifty,  even 
in  Paris,  and  Ellen  had  spent  more  than  one  evening  on 
the  arm  of  Gibbs's  chair,  working  out  the  financial 
end  of  their  problem.  Their  money  must  last  until 
this  time — or  that  time — they  must  think  of  the  future. 

Gibbs  laughed  at  the  future.  He  would  catch  her 
little  figure,  in  its  sea-green  draperies,  or  in  the  gipsy 
hat  and  the  apricot  smock,  and  tousle  her  black  hair, 
and  kiss  her.  What  did  she  think  he  was  going  to  be  a 
portrait  painter  for?  Love  ?  He  was  going  to  paint  all 
the  rich  Jewesses  in  Paris. 

She  believed  him,  but  still  she  watched  the  family 
expenses  closely.  In  the  astounding  freedom  of  the 
world  into  which  they  had  transplanted  themselves 
it  was  a  pleasure  to  do  so.  Nobody  cared  how  the  Jos- 
selyns  lived,  or  where,  or  what  they  wore,  or  had  in  their 
drawing  room.  Their  sole  duty  was  to  be  happy,  and 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  97 

to  get  the  joy  out  of  every  sou  in  their  own  way,  and  to 
be  able  to  offer  a  friend  a  salad  and  a  glass  of  wine,  or 
the  loan  of  a  few  francs,  as  the  case  might  be,  in  an 
emergency.  In  America,  Ellen  would  never  have 
dared  wind  her  dark  hair  about  her  head  in  the  way 
that  was  so  comfortable  and  becoming,  and  dress 
herself  in  cheap  cotton  frocks  of  plum  blue  or  lemon 
colour,  with  accessories  of  Oriental  scarfs,  curious  old 
jewellery,  and  the  various  buckles,  bands,  and  belts 
that  Gibbs  delighted  to  find  for  her.  It  was  not  nat 
ural  for  Ellen  to  make  herself  conspicuous,  no  matter 
how  sensible  or  comfortable  she  might  find  it.  But  in 
Paris  no  one  is  conspicuous,  and  the  gods  of  American 
women — clothes,  furniture,  and  table  accessories — ex 
isted  not  at  all. 

When  Tommy  was  two  years  old,  and  before  the  sec 
ond  child  was  born,  Gibbs  painted  his  wife.  They 
were  in  Brittany  again,  and  Ellen,  with  white  sewing 
in  the  lap  of  a  checked  blue  gown,  and  figure  and  face 
already  caught  in  the  first  rising  tide  of  motherhood,  was 
set  against  a  background  of  gnarled  old  grapevines. 
Gibbs  called  the  picture  "Wizardry."  It  was  simply 
done,  the  woman's  face  was  turned  toward  the  sea 
beyond  the  grape-arbour,  one  hand,  in  the  mottled  light 
and  shade,  had  been  given  a  careless  but  most  arrest 
ing  beauty,  but  the  face  was  merely  a  glimpse  of 
curved,  flushed  young  cheek  under  a  wing  of  black 
hair. 

The  picture  was  hung  in  the  Salon  des  Independents, 
and  Ellen,  when  her  delicate  little  girl  was  a  few  weeks 
old,  went  to  see  it.  There  was  a  crowd  about  it;  there 
was  always  a  crowd  about  it.  It  was  the  discussed 
picture  of  the  year,  but  she  always  looked  at  it  with 


>a  little  pang  at  her  heart.  She  had  been  so  happy 
in  those  sleepy  July  days  in  the  grape-arbour;  she  had 
thought  that  the  new  baby  would  be  like  Tommy, 
strong  and  gay  and  hungry.  And  the  tiny  new  thing, 
who  had  been  named  Rose  for  Gibbs's  mother,  was 
so  frail.  Even  while  she  was  looking  at  Gibbs's  picture, 
his  first  success,  Ellen's  heart  was  in  the  little  nursery 
on  Mont  Saint  Etienne,  hanging  agonized  above  the 
little  bed  where  Rose  Josselyn  lay  quiet,  apathetic, 
half  asleep. 

The  picture,  during  the  winter,  caused  a  widening 
circle  of  comment  and  admiration,  and  presently  Gibbs 
had  his  first  commission,  and  was  to  paint  a  boy  of  ten, 
in  the  trim  gray  uniform  of  a  military  school,  and  re 
ceive  two  thousand  francs  for  the  picture. 

So  fame  was  coming,  and  fortune  would  come  close 
on  her  heels.  Ellen,  sitting  by  the  studio  window  in 
the  winter  afternoons,  and  looking  out  at  the  fluttering 
snow  into  which  Yvonne  had  taken  the  dancing 
Tommy,  mused  upon  the  dream  that  had  become  the 
fact.  She  had  Paris,  Gibbs,  and  Tommy — so  much 
more  than  she  had  asked!  But  the  silent,  apathetic 
little  Rose  was  gone  from  the  nursery  now,  never  to 
lie  against  her  mother's  heart  again. 

Was  that  the  cost  of  success — she  wondered.  Suc 
cess  was  new,  but  ah,  this  constant  hunger  at  her  heart 
was  new,  too.  How  gladly — how  gladly  she  would  let 
the  one  go,  if  she  might  lose  the  other ! 

They  went  to  Holland  that  summer,  and  were  happy 
again,  in  a  deeper  and  truer  sense.  Ellen  knew  the 
ecstasy  of  gain,  now  she  gathered  the  difficult  fruit  of 
loss.  Other  women  suffered  and  were  strong,  and  she 
must  be,  too.  She  made  herself  join  Gibbs  on  tramps 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  99 

and  outings,  made  herself  smile  and  talk.  She  /ought 
down  the  bitter  sense  of  futility,  the  longing  to  cry  out. 
"What  use  is  it  all?  Nothing  can  give  me  back  my 
daughter!" 

Gibbs  painted  three  more  portraits  the  next  winter, 
which  made  them  feel  rich;  but  he  was  working  hard 
and  enthusiastically  in  the  atelier  six  mornings  a  week, 
and  neither  he  nor  Ellen  were  inclined  to  extravagance 
so  that  there  was  no  particular  incentive  to  seek  com 
missions. 

And  so  the  exquisite  years  went  by,  and  Tommy  was 
three  and  then  four,  and  still  the  Josselyns  lived  in 
their  own  happiness,  shut  away  from  the  world,  and 
glad  to  forget  it.  Ellen's  whole  heart  was  wrapped 
about  her  husband,  her  girlish  idealism  had  never 
been  disturbed.  True,  she  knew  now  that  Gibbs 
was  human.  She  knew  now  that  he  could  be  un 
reasonable,  that  he  had  moods  in  which  she  and  Tommy 
and  Yvonne  must  keep  even  a  crumpled  roseleaf  from 
his  path.  She  knew  that  while  he  was  less  sensitive 
than  she  to  the  feelings  of  other  people,  and  while  she 
felt  that  everything  he  did  was  perfection  merely  be 
cause  he  did  it,  he  liked  to  have  his  wife  aware  of  the 
conventions;  it  distressed  him  when  her  artlessness 
and  honesty  made  her  seem  in  any  way  ignorant  or  at 
a  loss. 

But  he  loved  her,  she  amused  him  and  pleased  his 
pride,  and  her  happy  ways  with  him,  that  sometimes 
were  those  of  a  daughter  and  a  pupil,  sometimes  wide- 
eyed  admiration,  sometimes  all  motherly,  were  dear  to 
him.  He  did  not  have  to  ask  her  if  she  loved  him; 
he  was  all  her  world. 


100  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

Suddenly,  in  the  seventh  year,  a  new  note  came  into 
their  conversations.  Without  any  premonition  they 
began  to  say:  "If  we  do  go  back  to  America/*  Ellen 
was  as  innocent  as  Gibbs  of  any  prearranged  planning 
to  that  effect.  They  simply  felt  the  possibility  in  the 
air. 

"If  we  go — Yvonne  wants  to  rest  anyway — we  need 
more  room — we  must  move  sooner  or  later — and  of 
course  Grandpa's  getting  so  old — Tommy  could  wear 
this  coat  on  the  steamer — we  could  store  this  chest  full 
of  small  things " 

So  Ellen  mused.  Presently  Gibbs's  mind  had  seized 
strongly  upon  the  idea.  He  would  go  to  New  York, 
and  find  a  studio,  and  see  what  the  prospect  was  of 
painting  portraits  there.  After  Tommy's  birth,  at 
Ellen's  request,  he  had  written  his  father,  enclosing  a 
little  photograph  of  the  small,  bald-headed  lump  of 
babyhood  that  was  Thomas  Gibbs,  Third,  and  the 
grandfather  had  eagerly  responded  to  the  overture. 
A  magnificent  gold-lined  cup  had  come  from  Tiffany's 
for  the  baby,  and  presents  on  all  formal  occasions. 

Now  Gibbs  began  to  think  he  would  like  to  show 
his  father  the  stalwart  Tommy,  who  spoke  two  lan 
guages  at  five,  and  played  his  little  violin  so  nicely. 

Then,  abruptly,  it  was  settled,  and  they  began  to 
wonder  how  they  had  managed  to  stay  away  so  long. 
Ellen,  during  the  last  busy  days,  would  stop  sometimes 
in  her  packing  to  look  out  of  the  undraped  studio 
window.  They  had  been  so  happy  here  since  the 
marvellous  days  when  she  and  Gibbs  had  unpacked 
the  boxes,  and  laid  the  rugs,  and  hung  the  pictures  with 
their  own  hands.  Was  it  wise  to  run  away  from  it  all? 

And   then  came  the  memory  of  Fifth  Avenue  in 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  101 

spring  sunshine,  and  the  sound  of  one's  own  tongue 
spoken  on  all  sides  and  the  garden  in  Main  Street  sweet 
with  lilacs,  and  she  would  smile  again. 

She  smiled  now  as  the  little  boy  and  the  tall  man 
crossed  the  deck  to  her.  Gibbs  was  young,  at  thirty- 
eight,  despite  the  silver  hair.  He  had  been  playing 
bridge,  and  was  glad  to  get  into  the  fresh  air,  after 
the  hot  smoking  room. 

"You  packed  everything!"  he  accused  her. 

"Because  I  wanted  you  to  be  free  to  see  the  very 
first  of  the  city!"  she  answered  eagerly.  "Look,  Tom 
my,  that's  Ellis  Island,  dear,  where  all  the  immigrants 
have  to  get  off.  And  look,  there's  Liberty!" 

"It  is  darned  thrilling!"  Gibbs  said,  smiling,  as 
they  leaned  on  the  rail.  The  ocean  was  left  behind 
them,  they  were  well  into  the  river  now,  and  on  both 
sides  the  land  was  coming  down  to  meet  them.  The 
Jersey  shore  was  a  tangle  of  factory  chimneys  wrapped 
in  smoke  under  a  bright  April  sun,  but  New  York's 
astonishing  silhouette  stood  out  cameo-clear.  It  was 
nearly  noon,  and  the  air  was  warm,  but  there  were  heaps 
of  dirty  snow  here  and  there  in  Battery  Park,  and  on 
the  shady  sides  of  chimneys,  on  the  tiled  roofs.  Trees 
were  still  bare,  but  Easter  was  near,  and  there  would 
be  thousands  of  lilies  ranged  in  Union  Square,  under 
boughs  just  showing  a  faint  film  of  green. 

"We've  missed  all  the  ugly,  hard  part,"  Ellen  ex 
ulted,  "and  we'll  get  all  the  glory  of  the  spring!" 

"I  wrote  the  old  man  we'd  go  to  the  Brevoort," 
Gibbs  said.  "I  bet  we'll  find  a  message  there.  They'll 
ask  us  down  to  the  new  house." 

Ellen  smiled.     Her  father-in-law  and  his  wife  had 


102  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

recently  taken  possession  of  a  new  home  at  Wheatley 
Hills,  a  fashionable  colony  only  a  few  miles  from  Port 
Washington.  It  would  be  rather  fun  to  visit  there,  as 
Gibbs's  wife,  with  little  Thomas,  Third.  She  well 
remembered  the  handsome  woman  who  had  been  so 
bafflingly  superior  in  her  manner  toward  Mrs.  Rose; 
her  own — what  was  it? — step-mother-in-law  now,  so 
curiously  had  events  come  about. 

And  she  would  see  Grandpa,  too,  and  Aunt  Elsie, 
and  Joe.  These  were  about  equally  unsatisfactory  as 
correspondents;  but  Ellen  knew  that  Aunt  Elsie  had 
been  ill  last  winter,  ill  enough  to  have  a  little  maid, 
but  was  well  now,  and  that  Joe  was  doing  well  with 
a  publishing  house,  and  that  Gibbs's  old  friend,  little 
Harriet  Lathrop,  had  spent  several  summers  at  Sands 
Point,  where  her  father  had  built  a  roomy  white  cottage, 
and  that  George  Lathrop  had  taken  Joe  on  one  or  two 
cruises,  and  had  been  a  good  friend  to  him.  Ellen,  like 
all  good  sisters,  determined  to  take  a  hand  in  Joe's 
affairs. 

"Gibbs!"  she  said  suddenly.  "Look — there  by 
that  little  boy  on  the  pier  who's  waving  the  flag! 
Isn't  that  your  father — of  course  it  is!  And  your 
step-mother,  too — and  there's  Joe — there's  Joe,  the 
old  darling — that's  Uncle  Joe,  Tommy — Oh,  Joe — Joe 
—Joe!" 

"That  is  Dad,"  Gibbs  said,  deeply  pleased  and 
touched.  "And  there's  old  George — I  call  this 
decent!  We've  been  away  so  long,  Ellen,  that  I'd  for 
gotten  how  nice  it  is  to  have  folks!  I  suppose  the 
dashing  lady  in  the  black  hat  is  my  mama?  Wave 
your  hand,  Kid,  that's  your  family!  And  try  to  re 
member  the  English  for  things,  or  they'll  not  like  you!" 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  103 

Five  minutes  later  they  were  all  together  in  a  jumble 
of  landing.  Ellen  was  kissed  on  her  suddenly  wet 
cheeks  by  her  father-in-law,  and  by  George  Lathrop, 
who  had  been  best  man  at  their  wedding,  and  by  the 
sweet  and  rather  silent  Joe.  Joe  was  taller  than  ever, 
he  would  never  be  well-dressed  or  well-groomed,  or 
have  a  particularly  happy  manner  in  company,  but 
Ellen  clung  to  the  big,  boyish  arm,  and  laughed  into 
his  handsome,  kindly  face  as  if  she  could  never  feel  and 
see  and  hear  enough  of  him.  He  had  improved  so, 
and  he  looked  so — well,  so  grown-up!  After  all,  one's 
little  brother  was  one's  little  brother,  even  if  he  was 
twenty-five!  She  found  her  father-in-law  aged,  he 
was  somehow  shrunken,  and  his  face  had  grown  leaner 
in  its  aspect.  He  wore  a  splendid  fur-lined  coat,  gold- 
rimmed  glasses,  irreproachable  gloves  and  footwear, 
and  was  a  conspicuously  dignified  and  fine  old  figure, 
in  the  confusion  of  the  wharf.  Lillian  was  so  changed 
as  to  be  hardly  recognizable. 

She  was  dressed  with  great  severity,  but  everything 
she  wore  was  fine  and  rich.  Her  skin  was  like  a  rose 
leaf,  her  great  dark  eyes  were  rimmed  with  faint  violet 
shadows — eyes  made  for  sorrow,  but  shining  with 
pleasure  and  hospitality  now.  Ellen  thought  she  had 
never  seen  whiter  teeth,  or  a  more  beautiful  scarlet 
mouth  to  enhance  their  whiteness.  Lillian's  thick, 
soft,  golden-brown  hair  showed  only  a  burnished  band 
under  her  wide  black  hat.  It  was  not  a  large  hat;  it 
was  tipped  like  a  hunting-hat  over  her  eyes,  and  orna 
mented  only  by  a  tumbled  cockade  of  cock's  feathers; 
Ellen  learned  later  that  it  had  cost  its  beautiful  wearer 
more  than  one  hundred  dollars.  Her  suit  was  plain, 
an  iron-gray  cloth  bound  in  black  silk  braid,  and  she 


104  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

wore  loosely  fastened  across  her  shoulders  sables  of 
regal  beauty.  In  one  immaculately  gloved  hand  she 
carried  an  enormous  bunch  of  fragrant  double  violets, 
and  through  all  the  greetings  she  did  not  lay  them 
down,  nor  put  aside  her  immense  muff. 

She  had  been  beautiful  seven  years  ago,  she  v/as 
more  than  that  now.  She  radiated  charm  and  per 
sonality,  there  was  a  hint  of  sadness  in  her  face  when 
it  was  in  repose,  there  were  a  hundred  provocative 
attractions  in  her  thoughtful  smile.  She  was  ready 
with  a  French  phrase,  a  German  phrase,  she  touched 
lightly  upon  the  Italian  political  situation,  she  had 
the  name  of  a  Russian  novelist  readily  upon  her  tongue. 
Ellen,  when  they  were  whirling  from  the  dock  to  the 
hotel,  complimented  her  upon  her  hat. 

"And  you  from  Paris!"  Lillian's  new,  rich  voice 
answered.  The  sables  moved  under  a  slight  shrug,  the 
red  lips  half  smiled. 

"My  Paris  isn't  the  Paris  of  the  fashions,"  Ellen 
explained.  "One  never  sees  extreme  styles  there, 
except  on  the  models  at  the  races.  And  almost  all  my 
friends  make  their  own  frocks — and  funny  enough 
they  are,  sometimes!" 

"I  have  a  good  woman  here,"  Lillian  said  carelessly. 
"I'm  too  busy  to  worry  much  about  it — but  she  looks 
out  for  me,  and  tells  me  what  I  need.  George  here 
laughs  at  me  when  I  talk  about  studies  and  lectures," 
she  added,  glancing  toward  George  Lathrop,  who, 
with  Joe,  was  with  them  in  the  limousine,  "he  thinks 
all  women  are  born  merely  to  shop  and  gossip,  but 
fortunately,  I  don't  worry  much  about  what  George 
thinks!" 

"Fortunately  I M  the  man  answered,  with  a  grimace 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  105 

evidently  intended  for  a  smile.  Ellen,  a  little  surprised 
to  detect  an  animosity  between  the  two,  realized  that 
she  was  back  in  the  land  of  unadjusted  womanhood 
again.  It  would  be  hard  to  define,  but  she  knew  that 
only  in  America  could  the  woman  assume  that  attitude 
of  childish  importance,  and  the  man  so  openly  show 
his  amused  contempt. 

She  thoroughly  liked  George  Lathrop,  who  was 
Gibbs's  senior  by  only  six  or  seven  years,  and  his  best 
friend.  George  was  a  lawyer  and  a  man  of  import 
ance,  but  he  was  somewhat  insignificant  in  appear 
ance,  and  his  manner  still  betrayed  the  country  boy  who 
has  fought  his  own  way  to  the  top.  Ellen  wondered 
that  he  could  dare  to  snub  the  beautiful  woman  beside 
her,  and  wove  a  little  dream  to  explain  it,  in  which 
George  showed  a  too-marked  admiration  for  Lillian, 
and  Lillian,  repudiating  it  with  dignity,  angered  him 
beyond  forgiveness. 

"You  must  help  me  get  some  new  gowns,"  Ellen 
said,  realizing  for  the  first  time  in  seven  years  that 
gowns  really  were  important.  "Of  course  at  home — 
in  Paris,  I  mean,  I've  worn  only  studio  things."  And 
she  glanced  down  with  some  misgivings  at  the  simple, 
almost  childish,  suit  under  the  rough  blue  coat,  and 
her  sensible,  neat  little  shoes. 

"  But,  my  dear,  you  should  have  gotten  loads  of  things 
in  Paris!5*  Lillian  said.  "You'll  think  they're  pirates 
here!" 

"Well,  I  did  get  an  evening  gown,  and  an  after 
noon  dress,'*  Ellen  said.  "Gibbs  and  I  tried  to 
pick  out  something  smart.  But  really  it  is  hard,  there. 
There  are  so  many  new  models,  and  one  can't  tell 
which  is  going  to  be  adopted — and  so  many  women 


106  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

dress  just  to  fit  their  own  types,  now,  regardless  of 
style!" 

"Here  we  are!"  Joe,  who  could  not  move  his  de 
lighted  eyes  from  his  sister,  said  suddenly.  They  all 
got  out  at  the  great  hotel,  where,  Ellen  learned,  they 
were  to  stay  for  a  day  or  two,  instead  of  the  Hotel 
Brevoort,  before  going  down  to  the  country  house,  to 
which  Lillian  had  given  an  Italian  name,  "Villino  delF 
Orto."  After  her  frugal  and  exquisite  economies,  this 
prodigality  was  almost  startling. 

Josselyn,  Senior,  it  appeared,  kept  a  suite  at  the 
Biltmore  throughout  the  entire  year.  He  and  his 
wife  could  come  and  go  at  their  own  pleasure,  change 
in  their  own  familiar  rooms  from  street  attire  to  evening 
dress,  keep  an  appointment  there  with  manicurist  or 
masseuse,  or  entertain  their  friends  with  a  cozy  meal 
served  before  their  own  fire.  To-day  he  had  engaged 
the  adjoining  suite  for  his  son's  family;  Ellen  could 
only  widen  her  blue  eyes  with  pleasure  as  she  studied 
the  detail  of  the  immense  bedroom.  There  were  a 
dozen  shaded  lamps,  a  desk  delightfully  equipped, 
deep  chairs,  soft  rugs,  and  from  the  cushioned  window- 
seat  so  wonderful  a  view  of  the  great  city  that  Ellen  and 
Tommy  could  with  difficulty  be  drawn  away  from  it. 

Below  them  were  the  bustling  streets,  the  elevated 
trains  rattling  like  toy  trains  over  their  little  frames, 
the  boats  in  the  river  moving  like  other  toys.  Smoke 
and  steam  rose  gaily  into  the  clear  April  air,  little 
drifts  of  soot-stained  snow  were  vanishing  from  the 
shady  cornices.  The  spires  of  Saint  Patrick's  church 
rose  against  a  sky  of  uncertain  blue. 

"Isn't  this  corking?"  Gibbs  exulted,  when  the 
younger  Josselyns  were  alone. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  107 

"Oh,  Gibbs,  it's  such  fun!  And  aren't  they  dears  to 
do  it  all — and  aren't  you  glad  now  that  I  made  you 
write  when  Tom  was  born!"  Ellen  had  taken  off 
the  big  blue  coat,  and  the  jacket  of  her  suit,  and 
appeared  in  a  loose  little  blouse  of  dark  blue  velvet 
with  a  deep  collar  of  old  lace.  Gibbs,  who  had 
brushed  his  thick  mop,  and  washed  his  hands,  now 
came  over  to  kiss  her,  an  invariable  preliminary  to 
meals,  and  touched  the  little  waist  with  a  sort  of 
embarrassed  and  amused  discontent. 

"You'll  have  to  get  some  clothes,  woman!" 

"Well,  if  your  angelic  father  entertains  us  for  a  week 
or  two,"  she  whispered,  laughing,  "I'll  be  able  to! 
Come,  Thomas,  we've  rubbed  the  lamp!  The  genii 
will  now  bring  us  up  a  sumshus  repast!" 

"  Really,  mother  ? "  the  child,  always  ready  for  make-( 
believe,  asked  eagerly. 

"Really,  you  little  goose!  And  speak  English, 
Tom."  She  opened  the  door  into  the  drawing  room 
of  the  other  suite,  and  there,  to  the  child's  delight, 
was  the  lunch-table,  with  two  waiters  hovering  about 
it,  and  a  shining  display  of  covered  dishes  and  steaming 
pots.  They  gathered  about  it  immediately,  Ellen 
between  Joe  and  George  Lathrop,  Tommy  chattering 
to  his  enraptured  grandfather,  Gibbs  and  Lillian 
making  each  other's  acquaintance  after  the  long 
years. 

Afterward,  Ellen  walked  to  the  lift  with  her  brother, 
and  stood  there  talking  to  him  as  if  she  would  never 
be  done. 

"You  seem  to  like  Mr.  Lathrop,  Joe?" 

"He's  a  king'"  Joe  said,  with  a  quick  meeting  of 
tyes. 


108  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"And  the  boy,  is  he  nice,  Joe?" 

"George — he's  all  right.  He's  in  college  now. 
Harvard." 

"And  how's  Harriet  ?     She  must  be " 

"She's  nineteen." 

"Is  she  all  over  the  sickness  now?"  Ellen  saw  that 
she  was  not  in  his  confidence.  She  had  remembered 
suddenly  that  the  tomboy  Harriet  had  had  a  frightening 
illness  about  a  year  ago — something  that  their  vague 
reports  had  given  her  to  understand  was  like  an  infan 
tile  paralysis. 

"Sure.  She  limps  some — she's  getting  well.  I  pack 
her  about  a  good  deal!"  Joe  said  noncommittally. 

"Pack  her  about?" 

"Yep.  Take  her  walks,  and  get  her  over  hard 
places."  Joe  fell  silent,  straightening  the  corner  of 
her  lace  collar  carefully.  Something  in  his  gravity 
troubled  her  vaguely,  and  she  turned  thoughtfully  back 
to  her  room,  wondering.  At  the  doorway  she  met 
George  Lathrop,  also  departing. 

"My  little  brother  has  grown  up!"  Ellen  said., 
with  a  rueful  smile. 

He  answered  her  with  another  smile. 

"Joe?  Joe's  a  great  fellow,"  he  said.  "We're  very 
fond  of  Joe  at  my  house.  In  some  ways  he's  the  most 
remarkable  boy  I  ever  knew!" 

"Joe?"  Ellen  asked  in  pleased  surprise. 

"He's  absolutely  and  utterly  honest,"  George 
Lathrop  said.  "Things  don't  deceive  Joe.  I  like  to 
introduce  him  to  people — if  they've  got  anything  that 
interests  Joe,  he  gets  it  out.  If  they  haven't,  it 
doesn't  matter  how  much  champagne  they  open,  or 
whether  they  have  a  season  opera  box  or  a  villa  in  Italy  T 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  109 

they  simply  don't  register  with  Joe.  I  think  that  fellow 
will  go  a  long  way!  He's  taught  my  boy  more  now 
than  I  could  ever  teach  him,  more  than  he'll  get  out 
of  college.  This  New  Year's  Eve  I  let'em  both  come 
into  town,  to  meet  some  friends  of  George's,  and  spend 
the  night.  It  seems  they  broke  away  from  the  crowd, 
about  two  o'clock,  and  came  to  their  hotel,  but  when 
Joe  was  asleep,  George  had  promised  to  sneak  back 
to  the  others.  However,  Joe  woke  up  just  as  George 
was  shutting  the  door,  and  I  tell  you  there  was  the 
mischief  to  pay!  Joe  brought  him  home  the  next  day, 
George  looking  like  a  whipped  puppy,  Joe  in  a  pass 
ion — Joe  wouldn't  stay  to  dinner,  wouldn't  talk,  and 
Wouldn't  wipe  his  feet  on  George!  My  boy  had  a 
hard  time  to  make  the  peace,  I  can  tell  you." 

Ellen  laughed,  and  her  cheeks  glowed.  She  went 
back  to  Gibbs  with  her  eyes  shining. 

"Mr.  Lathrop  was  talking  so  nicely  about  Joe, 
Gibbs!" 

"Oh,  that's  a  love  affair  all  'round!"  Lillian  said 
lazily.  "Of  course  Harriet's  feelings  are  no  secret,  I 
suppose  I  can  speak  of  that,  Tom  ? " 

The  older  Josselyn  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"She's  a  child,  my  dear!" 

"She's  not  a  child  at  all,  she's  a  woman,  as  far  as  her 
feelings  go,"  Lillian  answered,  with  her  indifferent 
smile.  "She's  plain,  and  she's  not  likely  to  meet  any 
one  else  on  the  same  intimate  terms  that  she's  known 
Joe.  George  is  willing,  Joe  is  willing — I  suppose — 
and  Harriet  is  more  than  willing." 

"Joe!"     Ellen  could  only  echo,  in  amazement. 

"Joe  is  clever,  and  steady,  and  sensible,"  Lillian 
said,  "and  George  doesn't  care  about  anything  else. 


110  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

His  one  terror  is  that  his  precious  child  will  be  snapped 
up  for  her  money.  Joe's  position  doesn't  make  the 
slightest  difference  to  George!" 

It  was  said  so  pleasantly,  in  her  good-natured,  indif 
ferent  manner,  that  the  oddity  of  this  sentiment,  com 
ing  from  Lillian,  did  not  occur  to  Ellen,  nor  the  pro 
priety  of  her  saying  it  to  Ellen  at  all.  The  two  women, 
utterly  different  in  type,  were  inclined  to  like  each 
other,  perhaps  for  the  reason  that  they  lived  in  alien 
worlds,  and  spoke  alien  tongues.  Ellen,  clear  of  vision 
for  all  her  simplicity  and  inexperience,  knew  that 
Lillian  regarded  her  with  a  sort  of  indulgent  contempt. 
A  woman  who  was  cheerfully  unfashionable  to  the 
,  point  of  dowdiness,  who  was  domestic  and  unselfish 
'  and  contented,  had  no  common  ground  upon  which  to 
meet  Lillian  Josselyn. 

Yet  Ellen's  handsome  husband  was  her  own  hus 
band's  son,  and  Lillian  could  not  ignore  her.  So  she 
kindly  and  pleasantly  took  Ellen  shopping,  quite 
obviously  rousing  herself  from  silence  and  her  own 
thoughts,  to  meet  Ellen's  efforts  at  conversation  half 
way.  She  mildly  advised  a  tailor-suit  that  cost 
ninety-five  dollars,  and  a  little  blue  spangled  evening 
dress  at  nearly  twice  that  sum,  and  she  selected  for 
Ellen  a  small  three-cornered  hat  at  forty-five  dollars, 
and  herself  tied  the  seven-dollar  veil  that  went  with 
the  hat.  Lillian  smiled  her  sleepy,  pleased  smile 
when  Gibbs  delightedly  complimented  his  wife  upon 
these  garments,  but  Ellen  knew  that  they  were  not  a 
success.  She  needed  all  the  accessories  of  shoes  and 
silk  stockings  and  collar  and  spats  and  jewellery;  her 
very  corsets  and  underwear  were  wrong.  She  felt 
that  Lillian  would  take  a  Japanese  or  Esquimaux 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  111 

* 
woman  in  hand  in  much  the  same  spirit,  and  with  the 

same  success.  Lillian  would  compliment  her,  delib 
erately  and  kindly,  but  there  were  far  better  dressed 
women  than  Ellen  whom  she  criticized  with  keen  ap 
praisal  and  biting  derision;  to  criticize  Ellen  was  sim 
ply  not  worth  her  while. 

As  the  pleasant  days  went  on,  Ellen  marvelled  at 
her  more  and  more.  Lillian  never  talked  of  herself. 
She  had  her  mysteries,  her  cryptic  reserves.  She  had 
friendships  of  a  sort  with  women,  sometimes  she  tried 
to  make  Ellen  express  herself  about  them.  And  she 
had  friendships  with  men,  but  of  these  she  never  spoke 
at  all.  She  was  the  type  of  beautiful  woman  who  can 
remain  silent  with  perfect  self-possession,  and  when 
she  did  speak  it  was  to  amuse  her  old  husband,  or  to 
encourage  Ellen  and  Gibbs  to  talk. 

Her  energy  amazed  Ellen.  Lillian  was  never  idle. 
She  had  her  masseuse  and  hairdresser  twice  weekly, 
she  studied  two  languages,  and  took  a  lesson  in  book 
binding  every  week,  and  never  missed  the  Saturday 
lectures  that  were  given  by  a  certain  Miss  Roberts, 
in  one  of  the  hotels,  every  winter,  on  topics  of  the  day. 
Almost  every  day  Lillian  had  luncheon  or  tea  with  the 
women  friends  she  met  at  lectures,  lessons,  or  conceits, 
and  despite  her  professed  distaste  for  shopping,  she 
shopped  every  day  with  a  patience  and  cleverness 
that  were  an  object  lesson  to  Ellen.  Lillian's  corsets 
and  lingerie  were  fitted  as  carefully  as  her  blouses  and 
skirts;  cosmetics  and  complexion  creams  were  a  serious 
matter  to  her,  and  on  one  occasion,  when  Ellen  hap 
pened  to  be  with  her  while  she  selected  a  pair  of  slip 
pers,  they  were  exactly  one  hour  in  the  shop. 

In  the  evening  occasionally  all  four  went  to  the 


112  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

• 
theatre.     But  Lillian  liked  better  to  dine  at  leisure 

somewhere,  and  to  meet  friends,  as  they  always  did, 
and  to  dance.  Gibbs  danced  a  little,  Ellen  less.  They 
sat  and  chatted  with  Josselyn,  Senior,  quite  happily, 
enjoying  the  music  and  the  general  gaiety  of  the 
scene.  Lillian's  partners  would  bring  her  back,  flushed, 
lovely,  silent;  she  would  exert  herself  to  be  pleasant  to 
the  group  at  the  table  until  she  was  claimed  again. 
She  taught  Gibbs  new  steps,  but  it  was  quite  apparent 
that  she  enjoyed  dancing  with  good  dancers,  regardless 
of  her  feeling  for  them  as  men.  Sometimes  they 
went  to  the  tea  dances  that  were  the  latest  attraction 
at  the  big  hotels;  Ellen  would  feel  a  little  sorry  for  her 
father-in-law.  He  was  always  well-groomed,  inter 
ested,  alert.  She  found  a  little  pathos  in  his  eagerness 
to  join  them  in  all  their  amusements,  not  to  be  a  clog, 
or  to  affect  their  plans. 

He  treated  his  wife  with  unvarying  courtesy,  but  he 
grew  deeply  fond  of  Ellen,  and  little  Tom  became  the 
joy  of  his  life.  There  were  days  when  the  three  went 
together  to  the  Park  or  the  Zoo  and  chattered  all  day 
as  if  they  had  been  of  one  age.  And  Ellen  felt  no  pity 
for  the  silver  head  when  she  saw  it  bent  against  Tommy's 
black  locks;  somehow  there  was  a  dignity  and  a  fitting- 
ness  here  that  was  lacking  at  the  dances  and  the  teas. 

Lillian's  friends  gave  her  more  clue  to  the  character 
that  puzzled  her  than  Lillian  ever  did.  These  groomed 
and  busy  young  women  were  duly  introduced  to  Ellen, 
and  although  they  frankly  regarded  her  as  an  alien, 
they  liked  her,  and  laughed  at  her  in  all  kindness  and 
hospitality.  She  joined  them  at  lunches  and  teas,  and 
they  talked  to  her  about  each  other's  "suitors.'* 
Ellen  learned  that  Lillian  had  a  suitor;  all  the  other 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  113 

women  were  keenly  interested  to  know  how  much 
Lillian  saw  of  Lindsay  Pepper,  did  he  send  her  flowers,' 
had  Ellen  met  him? 

Ellen,  keenly  uncomfortable  to  find  herself  discussing 
Lillian's  affairs  at  all,  admitted  that  the  older  woman 
had  introduced  her  to  Lindsay  Pepper.  She  didn't 
know  whether  he  sent  her  flowers  or  not. 

"You're  too  decent  to  give  her  away,  Cutie,"  said 
Mrs.  Jordan  good-naturedly.  "And  I  don't  blame 
you.  Lillian's  too  clever  for  words,  anyway.  I  don't 
know  how  she  does  it.  She  could  get  any  one's  suitor 
away.  Wait  until  you  get  some  man " 

Ellen  felt  outraged;  she  tried  to  laugh. 

"We're  making  you  mad,  and  no  wonder,"  said 
pretty  Paula  Woodward  sensibly.  "You  think  we're 
all  silly,  don't  you?  But  we  don't  mean  any  harm, 
Mrs.  Josselyn;  it's  just  our  reckless  way  of  talking. 
Besides,  if  I  had  a  husband  as  handsome  as  yours,  I'd 
never  look  at  another  man ! " 

"Except  Roger  Young,"  Emelie  Jordan  said. 
Mrs.  Woodward  gave  her  one  laughing,  contemptuous 
glance,  but  later,  when  they  could  talk  unheard,  she 
asked  Ellen  if  she  had  met  Roger  Young. 

"I  think  Lillian  introduced  him  to  us  the  other  night 
at  Delmonico's,"  Ellen  answerdd.  Mrs.  Woodward 
frowned  in  a  puzzled  fashion. 

"What  night  was  that?" 

"Why,  it  was — Tuesday,  I  think." 

"H'm!  Tuesday."  The  other  woman's  face  sud 
denly  brightened.  "Oh,  yes,  I  knew  he  was  there 
Tuesday,"  she  said  in  a  relieved  voice.  "He  told  me 
he  was.  Did  you  like  him?"  she  asked  with  a  cautious 
look  about  her. 


114  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"Well,  I  hardly  saw  him.     He  seemed  very  nice." 

"What  did  you  say?"  Mrs.  Woodward  brought  her 
wandering  look  suddenly  back  to  Ellen. 

"Just  that  he  seemed  nice.  He  was  dancing  with 
Lillian,  you  know,  I  hardly  saw  him!" 

"Tell  me  exactly  the  impression  he  made  upon  you," 
Mrs.  Woodward  said.  "Talk  to  me  about  him!" 

The  effect  of  this  was  to  silence  Ellen.  But  pres 
ently  the  other  woman  turned  to  her  again,  and  be 
gan  in  a  confidential  undertone: 

"Roger  is  peculiar,  you  know.  Meeting  him  that 
way  you  probably  wouldn't  get  much  of  an  impression. 
Especially,  if  you  don't  mind  my  saying  so  frankly, 
as  he  can't  stand  Lillian.  Most  men  adore  her,  you 
know.  But  Roger  is  an  unusual  fellow,  and  he  never 
got  over  what  Lillian  did  one  time.  All  the  girls 
know  this,  and  there's  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  tell 
you- 

Ellen,  scarlet  of  -cheek,  listened  to  a  long  story 
involving  telephone  messages  that  were  not  de 
livered,  speeches  that  were  misquoted,  friendship  that 
was  betrayed.  Under  the  other  woman's  manner  of 
generosity  and  indifference,  jealousy  and  petty  selfish 
ness  stalked  uncloaked.  Ellen  felt  hideously  un 
comfortable. 

"Did  you  have  a  nice  time?"  Lillian  asked,  when 
she  and  Ellen  were  being  whirled  away  from  the 
lunch-party  to  a  recital  at  Aeolian  Hall. 

"They — they  gossip  too  much.  About — even  about 
each  other,  a  good  deal!"  Ellen  commented  uneasily. 

Lillian  laughed,  scrutinizing  her  lovely  face  in  the 
tiny  mirror  of  her  vanity  case  as  she  touched  her  lips 
with  red. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  115 

"About  me,"  she  interpreted,  calmly.  "That 
doesn't  do  any  harm,  Ellen.  Those  girls  aren't  cap 
able  of  a  genuine,  good  friendship  between  a  man  and  a 
woman,  they  have  to  misunderstand,  and  construe  it 
their  own  way!" 

A  great  relief  flooded  Ellen's  honest  heart;  she  put 
her  hand  impulsively  over  Lillian's.  It  was  the  near 
est  thing  to  confidence  that  Lillian  had  vouchsafed  her. 
The  older  woman  smiled  her  composed  and  temperate 
smile. 

"Just  don't  pay  the  least  attention  to  them!" 
Lillian  said  indolently.  Instantly  Ellen  was  aware  of 
barriers  again. 


CHAPTER  VII 

RAIN  kept  the  two  families  in  the  city  hotel  for 
more  than  a  week  of  luxury  and  pleasure.  Aunt  Elsie, 
upon  whom  Ellen  had  descended  for  the  day,  had 
found  a  pleasant  little  country  nurse  for  Tommy,  the 
same  maid  that  she  had  had  during  her  illness,  and 
Ellen  consequently  had  nothing  to  do  but  amuse 
herself.  The  big  car  was  at  the  ladies'  disposal,  Gibbs 
often  went  with  them,  his  father  less  frequently.  It 
was  the  end  of  the  opera  season,  there  were  scattered 
concerts  of  importance,  the  season's  dramatic  successes 
were  still  running.  Joe  sometimes  joined  them  in  the 
evenings,  and  George  Lathrop  duly  gave  them  a  dinner 
party. 

To  this  party  Harriet  came,  a  thin,  nervous,  sweet 
girl,  plain  of  face,  but  with  a  pretty  manner,  and  most 
at  ease  with  Joe.  She  accepted  Ellen's  overtures  of 
friendship  eagerly,  sent  her  flowers,  and  showed  in 
more  than  one  way  her  pleasure  in  the  companionship 
of  Joe's  sister. 

So  ten  days  went  by,  and  long  before  they  were  over 
Ellen  began  to  long  for  a  simpler  life,  where  Gibbs 
would  seem  her  own  again,  and  where  Tommy  might 
always  be  free,  in  the  happy  old  way,  to  be  in  liis 
mother's  company.  They  would  visit  the  Long  Island 
house,  that  would  be  a  simpler  life,  at  least,  and  then 
they  would  find  a  studio  and  apartment  of  their  own, 
keep  the  little  Port  Washington  Lizzie  for  Tommy, 

116 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  117 

get  a  cook  besides,  and  go  back  to  their  own  way  of 
living. 

Lillian  had  told  them  something  of  the  home  at 
Wheatley  Hills,  "Tom  had  great  fun  designing  it." 

"You  designed  it!"  the  old  man  said  gallantly. 

"I  stuck  in  everything  I  wanted,"  Lillian  con 
ceded,  "and  Tom  almost  lost  his  mind  trying  to  recon 
cile  Spanish  tiles  and  old  English  woodwork  and  Dutch 
doors!" 

"It  must  be  wonderful  and  fearful  to  behold,"  Gibbs 
said  later  to  his  wife.  "I  have  a  vision  of  tapestries 
and  Mission  oak  and  black-and-white  stripes  and 
Tiffany  lamps  all  merrily  intermingled.  Lillian  would 
get  what  was  smart,  you  know,  if  she  lived  in  La 
Trappe  monastery!" 

Two  days  later  they  drove  straight  from  the  hotel 
to  Wheatley  Hills,  and  to  the  "  Villino  dell'  Orto."  It 
was  a  day  of  soft  showers  and  uncertain  sunshine. 
Ellen,  sitting  next  to  her  father-in-law,  who  was  driv 
ing  the  car,  was  in  an  ecstasy  as  she  began  to  recognize 
the  familiar  country. 

"This  is  our  little  outfit,"  Josselyn,  Senior,  said,  at 
last,  turning  in  at  a  white-pebbled  drive,  between  great 
trees  and  spraying,  enormous  rose-trees  that  already 
wore  young  green.  The  hard-rolled  lawns  showed  a 
faint,  emerald  film;  bushes  ready  to  bud  were  every 
where;  in  a  few  weeks  the  place  would  be  a  mass  of 
fragrant  bloom.  All  about  were  the  curves  and  rises 
of  wooded  hills,  beyond  lay  the  Sound,  coldly  blue  in 
the  distance.  Here  and  there  another  country  home 
was  visible;  a  stately  facade  of  dark  brick,  or  the  classic 
green  and  white  of  the  modern  colonial  wood.  Each 
of  these  had  its  fifty  or  a  hundred  acres,  its  stables  and 


118  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

garage  and  lodge  to  match  the  house.  The  Josselyn 
estate  was  small,  less  than  ten  acres  in  all,  there  was 
a  handsome  fence,  and  some  of  the  finest  woodland  on 
the  entire  island,  but  no  lodge. 

But  Ellen  had  only  a  confused  impression  of  these 
things  at  the  moment;  her  whole  attention  was  centred 
on  the  house.  She  gave  Gibbs  one  amazed  glance, 
he  met  her  look,  and  they  both  burst  into  laughter. 

"We've  been  had,  old  dear,  what?"  he  said  shame 
facedly. 

Lillian  smiled  contentedly. 

"You  Jo  like  it?" 

"Like  it!"  Gibbs  merely  echoed.  And  Ellen  said 
honestly  "I  think  itV  the  loveliest  house  I  ever 
saw!" 

It  was  Italian  in  type,  the  plaster  walls  stained  a 
warm  cream,  the  windows  and  doors  placed  irregularly; 
some  large,  some  narrow.  A  wide  stone  stairway  rose 
from  the  pebbled  path  to  the  second  floor,  climbing 
against  the  side  of  the  house,  at  its  base  stood  great  jars 
of  potted  hydrangeas.  Under  the  stairway  water 
poured  from  a  lion's  mouth  into  a  shallow  basin,  and 
above  it,  in  the  smooth  facade  of  the  house,  a  blue 
plaque  was  embedded  in  a  vine-wreathed  arch,  a  Delia 
Robbia  bambino  spreading  his  little  hands  in  untiring 
blessing  over  the  doorway. 

There  was  the  perfection  of  exquisite  simplicity  in 
the  whole,  the  perfection  of  absolute  order  and  ap 
propriateness.  The  three  years  that  the  house  had 
been  standing  here  might  have  been  three  hundred, 
so  kindly  did  the  trees  enclose  it,  so  readily  had  the 
bare  vines  made  themselves  at  home.  Even  while 
the  newcomers  stood  gazing  at  it,  a  nesting  bird,  with 


JGSSELYN'S  WIFE  119 

a  thread  hanging  from  his  bill,  disappeared  into  the 
chimney  ivy,  and  a  maid,  opening  an  arched  door  in 
the  house  wall,  showed  behind  her  trim  little  figure  a 
sun-flooded  vista  of  stone  arches  and  tiled  floors  that 
tempted  Ellen  to  an  immediate  investigation,  and 
made  her  exclaim  again. 

They  went  up  the  wide  outside  stair,  a.id  through 
the  dark  carven  wooden  door  at  the  top,  and  were  in  a 
quaint,  long  room  marvellously  panelled  in  rich 
wood,  with  a  glorious  view  through  enormous  win 
dows  that  were  curtained  only  by  thin  widths  of  some 
dark  silken  stuff.  The  room  was  devoid  of  merely 
ornamental  things,  one  splendid  rug  crossed  the  floor, 
logs  blazed  under  the  carved  acanthus  leaves  of  the 
great  marble  fireplace.  There  was  a  black  oak  table 
that  might  have  come  from  a  monastery,  the  chairs 
were  large  and  comfortable  despite  their  severity  of 
line.  The  effect  was  of  space,  silence,  and  shadow. 

Lillian,  enchanted  by  her  visitors*  admiration,  led 
them  to  other  rooms.  Here  was  her  piano,  with  a  harp 
beside  it,  in  a  small  room  lighted  by  three  narrow  gothic 
windows.  Here  was  the  breakfast  room,  bright  and 
square,  with  Quimper  plates  ranged  on  an  old  dresser, 
and  Perugian  blue  cottons  at  the  windows.  Some 
times  they  stepped  up,  and  sometimes  down,  through 
exquisite  doorways  deeply  arched;  every  vista  had  been 
studied,  and  made  perfect.  Sometimes  Ellen  looked 
down  at  the  formal  garden,  with  its  moondial  and  its 
trimmed  cypresses  close  to  the  woods,  sometimes  she 
laughed  in  surprise  at  finding  herself  unexpectedly 
above  the  tiled  courtyard  where  maids  were  chatting  in 
the  sun,  or  crossed  a  stone  balcony  presumably  leading 
into  the  library,  to  find  herself  in  one  of  the  long, 


120  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

bare  corridors  again.  Everywhere  was  the  same  effect 
of  space,  and  restraint,  and  emptiness. 

Gibbs  presently  went  to  his  stepmother,  and  took 
both  her  hands. 

"I  congratulate  you,  my  dear!  I've  not  seen  any 
thing  better  in  my  life!" 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  unsmiling  eagerness. 

"No,  but  truly ?  You  know  I've  been  waiting 

for  your  verdict,  Gibbs." 

"It's  a  fairytale!"  Ellen  said. 

"Of  course  I  had  a  big  architect  to  help  me  do  it," 
Lillian  said,  with  a  prettily  deferential  glance  at  her 
husband. 

"And  we  had  that  damn  Pepper  in  the  house  for 
three  months,"  the  old  man  said  mildly. 

"Who's  that  damn  Pepper?"  Ellen  asked,  with 
her  gay  laugh.  "Lindsay  Pepper,  the  man  we  met?" 

"He's  a  very  nice  fellow,"  Lillian  corrected,  with  an 
indulgent  smile.  "He  decorates,  and  picks  out  things 
for  you,  and  so  on — it's  his  business.  Most  people 
are  afraid  of  him,  but  I  am  one  of  the  very  few  who 
boss  him  about,  and  he  likes  it.  He  and  I  had  great 
fights  about  everything,  and  I  always  got  my  own 
way.  So,  if  you  like  it,  I  won't  have  Lindsay  Pepper 
get  the  credit!" 

"He  got  more  than  the  credit,  he  got  the  cash!" 
said  Josselyn,  Senior,  in  an  undertone,  and  with  a  mis 
chievous  look  at  Ellen. 

"Don't  listen  to  him,"  said  his  wife.  She  took 
Ellen  and  Gibbs  to  their  own  rooms,  and  before  she 
even  left  them  she  stood  for  a  moment,  with  one  hand 
on  Ellen's  shoulder,  and  the  other  holding  Gibbs's 
hand,  as  they  stood  before  her. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  121 

"I  hope  you're  going  to  be  comfortable,"  she  told 
them,  with  a  wistful  smile.  "It  means  so  much  to 
your  father,  and  to  me,  we —  There  was  a  hint  of 
feeling  in  her  voice  and  as  if  she  had  not  meant  to  show 
it,  she  laughed  a  little  shakily.  "We  want  you  dears  to 
like  us!"  she  said.  And  immediately  she  was  all 
practical.  "I've  put  you  both  in  here,  Ellen,  it's  not 
the  largest  room,  but  it  has  the  prettiest  view,  and  the 
fireplace.  And  in  summer,  you  can  move  if  you  like. 
And  Thomas  is  right  next  door,  across  the  bath.  Lizzie 
can  either  sleep  there  or  have  a  room  upstairs  with  the 
other  girls.  Little  Keno  will  look  out  for  you,  she's 
Japanese,  but  she  understands  everything,  and  if  you 
ring,  she'll  bring  you  anything.  Don't  dress  unless 
you  want  to;  I'm  going  to  get  into  something  com 
fortable " 

She  was  gone,  and  the  younger  Josselyns  left  to  smile 
upon  each  other  like  children  in  a  fairytale.  Ellen 
explored  the  little  domain;  every  need  had  been  antici 
pated,  everything  was  perfect. 

"These  aren't  Pembroke  beds,  but  by  George, 
they're  awfully  good  imitations,"  Gibbs  said,  in 
vestigating.  "And  I  like  the  goldfish  floating  about 
in  that  tall  bowl." 

"There  are  other  goldfish  downstairs,  and  did  you 
ever  see  anything  so  wonderful  as  the  flowers?"  Ellen 
contributed.  "Just  freesia  lilies  in  the  music  room, 
and  masses  of  pussy-willows  in  the  hall,  and  early 
violets  here — Gibbs,  dear,"  and  she  came  close  to  him, 
and  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  "are  we  lucky,  or 
what?" 

"Did  you  get  that  delicate  insinuation  of  what 
we  were  to  do  in  summer?"  her  husband  questioned 


122  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

in  turn.  "Do  you  suppose  they  expect  us  to  live 
here?" 

"Gibbs,"  Ellen  answered,  with  a  cautious  look  about 
that  amused  him,  "it  looks  like  it! 

"And  you  know,"  she  went  on  happily,  when  she 
had  taken  a  simple,  soft  little  brown  dress  from  the 
closet  where  Keno  had  carefully  arranged  all  her 
clothes,  and  was  brushing  her  dark  hair,  "you  know, 
it  would  be  simply  wonderful  beyond  words  to  be  here, 
Gibbs,  and  then  for  you  to  have  a  studio  in  town. 
I've  always  felt  that  it  was  a  mistake  for  families  to 
combine,  but  if  we  had  the  studio,  and  could  stay  there 
for  a  night  or  two,  and  then  with  your  father  and 
Lillian  going  to  town  as  much  as  they  do,  and  leaving 
us  alone  here,  it  wouldn't  be  like  falling  over  each 
other  all  the  time!  And,  Gibbs,  if  it's  like  this  now, 
imagine  what  June  will  be — and  how  Tommy  will' 
love  it!" 

"She  must  be  smart,  you  know,  to  get  away  with 
this!"  Gibbs  said  thoughtfully,  coming  to  the  bath 
room  door  with  shaving  soap  spread  over  the  lower 
half  of  his  face  just  as  Tommy  in  woolly  pajamas  came 
rioting  through. 

He  had  had  his  supper,  and  wished  to  find  his  books 
so  that  Lizzie  could  read  to  him.  Ellen  showed  him 
where  Keno  had  neatly  stacked  them,  but  before  de 
parting  Tommy  investigated  her  balcony,  tied  a  string 
there  with  a  magnet  dangling  from  it,  attempted  un 
successfully  to  get  one  of  the  green  glass  marbles  from 
the  goldfish  bowl,  and  entered  into  several  enterprises 
in  the  bathroom  that  wrung  from  his  father  an  impa 
tient  "Stop  that,  Tom!  .  .  .  Do  you  hear  me?"  Gibbs, 
fully  dressed,  finally  carried  the  squirming  child  to  his 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  123 

mother,  for  prayers,  and  Ellen,  fastening  the  last  hook 
of  her  brown  dress,  went  to  the  fireplace  for  the  final 
ceremony  of  Tommy's  day.  Then  Lizzie,  with  a 
smile  on  what  was  usually  a  rather  sad  little  face, 
carried  him  away. 

It  was  just  one  of  their  happy,  intimate  hours;  the 
years  had  been  full  of  them.  But  they  had  never 
seemed  anything  but  a  miracle  to  Ellen,  whose  blessed 
privilege  it  was  to  be  shut  into  four  walls,  evening  after 
evening,  with  Gibbs  and  Tommy,  to  share  their  hours 
of  relaxation  and  confidence. 

She  was  happy  to-night,  happier  than  she  had  yet 
been  in  this  old  atmosphere  that  was  yet  so  strangely 
puzzling  and  new.  Life  in  the  city  had  been  trying, 
she  had  been  conscious  a  hundred  times  a  day  that  she 
was  unfitted  for  it.  But  now  she  was  back  in  the  coun 
try,  Aunt  Elsie  and  Joe  and  Grandpa  only  a  few  miles 
away — this  was  her  own  atmosphere.  They  would 
soon  dilute  the  luxury  of  Lillian's  home  with  intervals 
in 'some  simpler  place  where  Gibbs  could  lunch  in  his 
old  painty  jacket,  if  he  liked,  and  where  Ellen  could 
cook  a  little,  even  if  it  were  on  a  gas  stove,  and  garden  a 
little,  even  if  it  were  only  in  a  window  garden.  And 
he  would  be  painting  all  through  the  happy  mornings, 
and  she  would  go  to  market  with  Tommy  beside  her, 
and  hear  him  his  reading-lesson,  and  make  him  spend 
half  an  hour  on  exercises  with  his  violin. 

"What  are  you  smiling  about?"  Gibbs  asked,  as 
they  wert  downstairs,  with  his  arm  about  the  velvet 
dress.  He  had  told  her  he  liked  that  foolish  little  dress, 
and  the  violets  pinned  beside  the  prim  white  collar. 

"You!"  She  gave  him  the  usual  answer,  and  as 
usual,  he  tipped  her  bright  face  up  for  a  kiss. 


124  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

A  moment  later  her  father-in-law  called  her  from  the 
entrance  hall  downstairs.  Ellen  ran  down  to  join  him, 
and  to  walk  about  the  bare  garden  with  him,  respect 
fully  asking  him  questions  about  the  lawn  and  the  roses. 

Gibbs  went  on  to  the  long  drawing  room,  where 
Lillian  was  standing,  dressed  in  some  Oriental  shapeless 
garment  that  gleamed  with  rich  embroidery.  She 
was  staring  down  at  the  fire,  her  beautiful  dark  head 
bent;  she  did  not  seem  to  hear  him  come  in. 

When  his  shadow  fell  across  her  vision  she  looked  up, 
her  eyes  grave.  Then  she  smiled,  and  merely  shaped 
the  word  "Gibbs'*  with  her  lips  before  dropping  her 
eyes  again. 

"Ellen  is  out  in  the  garden  with  Dad,"  Gibbs 
volunteered,  rubbing  his  hands  before  the  blaze. 
Lillian  gave  him  an  absent  look,  and  fell  to  dreaming 
again.  Little  flames  licked  noisily  about  the  back 
log,  in  the  silence. 

After  a  few  minutes  Gibbs  gave  his  stepmother  a 
quick  look;  it  was  as  if  he  saw  her,  young,  beautiful, 
troubled,  for  the  first  time.  Something  was  making 
her  unusually  silent  to-night;  he  wondered  what  it 
could  be. 

"Headache,  Lillian?"  he  ventured.  The  words 
sounded  curiously  intimate  and  tender  as  he  heard  them 
fall,  he  had  a  quick  flash  of  diffidence.  Did  he  call 
her  " Lillian?'*  But  of  course  he  did! 

She  looked  up  with  her  slow  smile. 

""No,  Gibbs.  Just  one  of—  she  passed  her 
hand  quickly  over  her  forehead,  frowned  faintly,  and 
sighed— "just  one  of  my  bad  times,"  she  said,  very 
low,  looking  down  at  the  fire  again.  "I'm  not  on 
speaking  terms  with  your  friend  to-night!" 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  125 

His  friend?  Gibbs  could  not  understand  her. 
She  would  not  call  Ellen  that.  She  would  not  speak 
so  of  his  father.  He  could  only  echo  her  words  stu 
pidly: 

"My  friend?" 

"Your  friend  Lillian,"  she  elucidated  smilingly. 
Gibbs  felt  an  unexpected  sensation  at  his  heart.  He 
did  not  speak  again,  nor  did  she,  and  when  Ellen  and 
the  old  man  came  up  from  the  garden,  chilly  and  laugh 
ing,  with  a  few  early  violets  adding  their  wet  freshness 
to  Ellen's  other  violets,  Lillian  and  Gibbs  were  still 
standing  before  the  fireplace,  and  still  silent. 

Gibbs  did  not  attempt  to  repeat  this  little  conver 
sation  to  his  wife.  To  do  so  would  be  to  give  it  an 
undeserved  importance.  He  told  himself  that  there 
was  really  nothing  to  repeat,  and  yet  he  thought  of  it  a 
hundred  times  during  the  next  few  days. 

That  night  at  dinner  he  had  twice  looked  across  the 
dinner  table  straight  into  Lillian's  eyes,  each  time 
experiencing  that  faint,  pleasant  shock  in  his  heart. 
He  began  to  think  of  her,  to  wonder  what  thoughts 
her  silences  covered,  to  notice  her  silk-clad  ankle  or 
her  white,  ringed  hand.  Cadences  in  her  voice  be 
gan  to  linger  with  him,  she  made  life  more  interesting 
for  him  in  an  innocent,  undefined  sort  of  way.  Living 
in  the  same  house  with  her,  and  in  a  house  that  inci 
dentally  furnished  so  exquisite  a  setting  for  any  friend 
ship,  began  to  seem  like  a  scene  in  a  play.  She  was 
always  playing  some  part;  it  amused  him  to  play  an 
answering  part  of  his  own.  He  had  never  deceived 
Ellen.  He  was  merely  playing  a  vague  little  game  that 
s>he  would  not  have  appreciated  at  its  innocent  worth, 


126  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

and  that  might  stop  at  any  moment,  leaving  no  one  the 
worse. 

Ellen  had  her  own  reserves,  too,  a  tiny  secret  from 
Gibbs  that  worried  her  to  an  extent  that  she  knew 
herself  was  entirely  disproportionate.  George  Lath- 
rop  had  taken  the  liberty  of  an  old  friend,  and  had 
advised  her  not  to  make  her  father-in-law's  house  her 
permanent  home. 

He  had  done  it  kindly,  in  the  most  brotherly  man 
ner,  and  without  making  it  particularly  emphatic,  yet 
his  earnestness  had  made  Ellen  vaguely  uneasy,  and  she 
had  not  been  quite  happy  since. 

George  had  spoken  on  a  certain  beautiful  May 
evening,  when  Ellen  and  Tommy,  who  had  spent  the 
day  with  her  family  in  Port  Washington,  had  come 
down  to  Sands  Point  late  in  the  afternoon  to  see 
Harriet.  Reaching  home  a  little  earlier  than  usual, 
George  came  upon  them  at  tea.  Tommy  was  riding 
about  the  garden  on  a  golf  stick,  Ellen  and  Harriet 
were  on  the  porch. 

"Go  telephone  Lillian  that  I'm  going  to  drive  Ellen 
and  Tommy  home,"  George  said  to  his  daughter, 
"and  put  on  a  coat,  Baby,  and  come,  too!" 

"Oh,  now  that's  a  lot  of  trouble!"  Ellen  protested. 
But  the  man,  sipping  his  tea  indifferently,  merely 
smiled,  and  Harriet  delightedly  ran  off  to  obey  him. 

"This  begins  to  feel  like  spring,"  he  said  content 
edly,  with  a  nod  toward  the  garden  that  was  bursting 
with  new  green. 

"It  begins  to  feel  like  Heaven,"  Ellen  answered.  "I 
should  have  gone  home  long  ago.  But  somehow  there 
is  always  one  day  that  seems  to  advance  the  spring 
by  leaps  and  bounds;  and  this  is  the  day!  Tom  and  I 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  127 

had  luncheon  with  my  aunt,  and  then  Grandpa 
took  him  down  to  the  water-front,  and  while  I  was 
hunting  for  them  to  take  him  home,  Harriet  came 
along  in  the  car,  and  brought  us  down  here  for  a 
talk!" 

"You  do  her  good,"  George  said.  "I  wish  you 
were  nearer  her!" 

Ellen  felt  a  warm  impulse  of  affection.  She  had 
felt  somewhat  out  of  her  element  of  late.  She  was 
not  at  ease  in  the  new  environment.  She  began  to  feel 
that  the  picturesque  old  dresses  and  the  simple,  hospit 
able  meals,  and  the  old  laughing  assurance,  belonged 
only  to  the  Paris  life,  and  that  she  must  change  now, 
although  she  did  not  know  how  to  change. 

But  she  was  always  at  ease  with  the  clever,  homely, 
blunt  little  lawyer,  always  happy  with  him  and  Harriet. 

"Wheatley  Hills  isn't  far!"  she  reminded  him  now. 
Instead  of  answering,  she  saw  him  frown,  and  fall  to 
thinking,  over  his  empty  cup. 

"You're  going  to  be  with  the  Josselyns  all  sum 
mer?"  he  asked,  after  a  silence. 

"I  suppose  so,"   Ellen  answered.     "Gibbs's  father 
idolizes    Tommy.     They're    wonderfully    kind   about' 
wanting  us,  and  they  won't  let  us  mention  any  other 
arrangement." 

"I  think  you  make  a  mistake,"  George  said  flatly. 
Ellen,  who  had  been  living  in  an  atmosphere  of  honeyed 
sweetness  of  late,  looked  at  him  in  quick  and  sensitive 
surprise. 

"Of  course  Gibbs  is  looking  for  a  studio  in  town!" 
she  said  uncomfortably.  "Is  it — is  it  that  you  don't 
think  it  is  right  for  Gibbs  to  let  his  father — well, 
support  him?"  she  asked  bravely. 


128  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"That  sounds  like  Joe's  sister,"  George  said,  smiling. 
"No,  it's  not  that.  Tom  Josselyn  has  more  money 
than  he  can  spend,  and  he  hasn't  done  much  for  Gibbs, 
so  far.  No,  it's  not  that.  But — but  I  don't  believe 
it's  the  happiest  arrangement  for  any  of  you.  Lillian, 
now — she's  not  a  normal  woman.  She  has  her  quar 
rels — her  fancies " 

"I  know  you  don't  like  Lillian,"  Ellen  answered, 
smiling  in  her  turn.  "But  she  and  I  get  along  beauti 
fully.  We're  not  a  bit  alike,  you  know " 

"I  should  say  you  are  not!"  George  interrupted. 
"Well,  you  know  best.  But  I  shouldn't  advise  it." 
And  Harriet  reappearing  at  that  moment,  he  held 
Ellen's  blue  coat  for  her,  and  watched  her  button  it 
over  her  plain  pongee  gown.  An  hour  later,  when 
they  were  coming  home,  he  asked  Harriet  about  her 
"You've  taken  a  fancy  to  young  Mrs.  Josselyn, 
Baby,  haven't  you?" 

"Ellen?  I  love  her!"  Harriet  responded  enthusias 
tically.  "Don't  you  think  she's  pretty,  Daddy,  in  her 
dear  little  way?  Don't  you  think  she  has  lovely  blue 
eyes?  I  think  she's  a  thousand  times  prettier  than 
Lillian " 

"Come  now!"  her  father  smiled. 

"Oh,  Daddy,  I  do!  At  least  I  think  she's  a  million 
times  sweeter  than  Lillian — 

"Ah,  well,  that's   a  different  thing,  Baby,"  he  con- 
^ ceded  with  a  sigh.     But  Harriet  did  not  hear  him. 

"She  doesn't  seem  to  know  how  sweet  she  is,  Daddy. 
Now  think  of  her  coming  over  here  twice  a  week  to 
spend  the  day  with  Mrs.  Baldwin.  To-day,  she  was 
roaming  along  the  water-front,  talking  with  all  those 
old  men  as  happily  as  if  she  never  had  seen — well,  seen 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  129 

things  any  different  or  lived  any  other  life!  She's  just 
like  a  little  girl.  Mrs.  Baldwin  will  say  to  her:  Tut  on 
that  apron,  Ellen/  and  she  obeys  just  as  if  she  was  eight 
years  old." 

"Then  you'd  be  ashamed  of  the  Latimers,  if  you 
were  any  relation  to  them,  Baby?"  her  father  asked,, 
with  a  sidewise  grin.  She  laughed,  flushed,  and  squeezed 
his  arm  in  great  felicity. 

"Daddy,  you're  horrible!"  she  told  him.  And  she 
added  demurely:  "You  like  Joe,  don't  you?" 

"Who  spoke  of  Joe?"  her  father  asked  innocently. 
"Joe  who?"  But  Harriet  would  not  permit  this 
duplicity.  She  told  him  vivaciously  that  Joe  was  to 
come  down  to  luncheon  on  Sunday,  and  they  were  to 
try  the  tennis,  if  there  was  no  intervening  rain. 

To  both  father  and  daughter  the  lingering  twilight 
of  the  season's  first  warm  day  was  memorably  sweet 
as  they  motored  home.  There  were  lilacs  and  fruit- 
blossoms  in  the  village,  doors  were  open,  bareheaded 
women  chatted  over  garden  gates.  All  the  country 
sounds  were  set  free  again,  voices  and  the  barking  of 
dogs,  and  the  honk  of  motor  horns.  A  hundred  little 
boats  rode  the  satiny  waters  of  Manhasset  Bay; 
old  Captain  Latimer,  sauntering  home,  lifted  his  dis 
reputable  old  hat  to  Joe's  friends  from  the  Point. 

"I  never  was  glad  that  I'm  going  to  be  rich  before," 
Harriet  said  softly  after  awhile.  "It  didn't  make  me 
happier  at  school,  and  it  never  has  seemed  to  count 
very  much  since.  But  Joe's  so  ambitious,  that  I'm 
glad  now — for  Joe.  He  can  travel,  and  after  awhile 
he  can  write  books,  as  he  longs  to  do." 

Her  father  glanced  at  her.  She  was  looking  straight 
ahead,  into  the  feathery  green  tunnel  that  was  the 


130  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

road;  her  plain,  intelligent  little  face  was  lighted  with 
the  great  light  of  youth  and  love.  He  did  not  answer 
lier.  He  thought  of  the  nursery  into  which  he  had 
reverently  stepped,  nearly  twenty  years  ago,  to  look 
at  his  daughter.  And  his  heart  was  wrung  with  an 
exquisite  emotion  that  was  partly  joy  and  partly 
pain. 

Days  went  by,  and  were  weeks.  It  was  June,  and 
still  the  younger  Josselyns  were  domiciled  at  "Villino 
dell'  Orto,"  where  all  the  roses  were  in  flower  now,  and 
the  lawns  as  green  as  jade.  Still  Gibbs  was  desul 
torily  hunting  for  the  right  studio,  interrupting  this 
enterprise  whenever  golf  kept  him  in  Wheatley  Hills  for 
the  day,  or  when  his  father  planned  a  two  or  three  days' 
expedition  for  them  all  in  the  car. 

Outwardly,  the  life  they  lived  was  ideal.  The 
lovely  house  was  at  its  prettiest  now,  and  Lillian 
gave  luncheon  and  dinner  parties  three  or  four  times 
a"  week.  She  and  Ellen  motored  to  tea  at  the  club, 
and  brought  the  men  home  after  their  golf,  or  de 
parted  in  great  harmony  for  lunch  or  card  parties,  in 
the  car.  Ellen  had  some  dainty  new  summer  gowns, 
a  rough  crash  with  dark  blue  stripes,  a  handkerchief 
linen  exquisitely  frail  and  simple,  a  rose-checked  French 
gingham  in  which  even  Lillian  and  her  friends  seemed 
interested. 

But  she  was  not  happy.  She  did  not  want  all  these 
new  luxuries  and  all  these  new  friends;  she  wanted 
Gibbs,  and  she  realized  that  they  were  daily  growing 
further  and  further  apart.  He  did  not  need  her  now; 
they  had  less  and  less  to  plan,  to  discuss,  to  decide. 

In  their  first  days  in  America  they  had  gone  to  their 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  131 

room  to  talk  tirelessly,  like  children,  to  compare  notes 
and  exchange  confidences.  But  they  did  this  no 
longer.  Gibbs  was  usually  tired  of  talking  on  the 
brief  occasions  when  he  and  his  wife  were  alone.  He 
talked  at  breakfast,  talked  while  running  into  town 
in  the  car,  met  his  old  friends  at  noon  and  talked, 
came  back  to  Wheatley  Hills  to  be  swept  into  the  un 
ending  talk  at  the  club,  talked  at  dinner,  and  talked 
far  into  the  night. 

He  would  greet  Ellen  carelessly,  and  dress  in  silence. 
His  life  was  full  to  the  brim  without  her,  all  these 
lives  were  packed  full  without  any  particular  reference 
to  the  claims  of  husbands  and  wives.  Gibbs  thought 
he  was  having  a  glorious  time,  he  was  excited,  flattered, 
carried  away  by  popularity.  The  men  welcomed  new 
blood,  another  rival  on  the  links,  another  hand  at 
cards,  another  eligible  dinner  guest,  dancer,  and 
raconteur.  The  women  were  all  captivated  by  •  his 
unusual  appearance,  his  easy  French,  his  art,  and  his 
ambition.  They  found  in  his  indifference  a  supreme 
charm.  He  did  not  play  their  game  any  more  readily 
than  his  odd  but  nice  little  wife  did,  but  while  no  man 
ever  dreamed  of  taking  the  slightest  liberty  with 
domestic,  serious,  pretty  little  Mrs.  Josselyn,  half  a 
dozen  women  at  least  would  have  been  glad  to  be  able 
to  speak  of  Gibbs  as  a  "suitor." 

Lillian  lazily  called  Ellen's  attention  to  it:  to  the 
petticoats  that  always  fluttered  across  Gibbs's  path 
at  the  club,  to  the  intimate  conversations  for  which 
traps  were  eternally  laid  beneath  his  wife's  very  eyes, 
and  Ellen  was  filled  with  a  sort  of  sick  anger  and  terror. 
Anger  because  she  did  not  want  to  fight  for  what  was  by 
all  rights  her  own,  and  terror  because  sometimes  she 


132  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

was  smitten  with  the  thought  that  she  had  nothing 
with  which  to  hold  him,  should  he  try  to  go. 

She  could  not  be  her  old  self  in  this  environment. 
She  no  longer  felt  like  the  busy  little  wife  and  mother 
who  had  so  gaily  climbed  up  and  down  the  heights  of 
Mont  Saint  Etienne,  Tommy  toddling  beside  her, 
Gibbs  rushing  to  the  landing  to  meet  her,  or  to  bid  her 
farewell.  Surely  this  was  not  the  same  Ellen  who 
went  into  Yvonne's  kitchen  and  mixed  "cornbread 
Americaine"  to  the  amusement  and  admiration  of  the 
sturdy  Lilloise?  Had  she,  only  a  year  or  two  ago,  been 
able  to  call  cheerfully  to  Gibbs  through  a  Brittany 
twilight  that  he  must  undress  Tommy  at  once,  the 
bath  was  waiting,  and  was  it  the  same  Gibbs  who  had 
obediently  come  across  high  grass  under  gnarled  apple- 
trees  to  present  her  with  a  warm,  nude,  dusty  Tommy 
to  bathe  ?  Ah,  and  there  were  other  times  to  remember : 
a  night  in  a  French  hospital,  and  Gibbs's  shining 
head  against  her  arm  on  an  immaculate  counterpane, 
and  the  tiny  cry  that  was  so  soon  to  be  stilled  echoing 
through  the  gas-lighted,  hot  room. 

But  at  this  memory  the  thick  tears  would  blind 
Ellen's  eyes.  She  had  mourned  her  baby,  her  delicate, 
wistful  little  Rose,  but  she  looked  back  at  that  sorrow 
now  as  something  sacred,  something  precious,  some 
thing  that  had  bound  Gibbs  and  herself  together  more 
strongly  than  joy. 

She  would  go  into  the  nursery  at  "  Villino  dell'  Orto" 
and  begin  to  busy  herself  about  Tommy's  little  person. 
Was  he  going  to  bed  ?  Let  Mother  undress  him.  She 
would  fall  into  deep  musing  over  the  little  buttons  and 
straps. 

"I  can  undress  myself,  Moth'!"    Tommy  would 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  133 

protest,  wriggling.  She  would  catch  the  warm,  hard 
little  face  to  hers  in  a  hunger  of  love.  Perhaps  the 
child  would  glance  at  her  in  surprise. 

"Are  you  crying,  Mother?     What  for?" 

"Indeed,  I  don't  know,  Tom!" 

Their  first  real  estrangement  came  this  summer. 
Not  that  Ellen  and  Gibbs,  as  normal  young  persons, 
had  not  quarrelled  before.  There  had  been  occasions, 
in  the  very  early  days,  when  a  fancied  coldness  in  his 
tone,  or  a  letter  that  Ellen  must  write  to  Joe  in  the 
hour  Gibbs  wanted  to  read  to  her,  had  caused  them 
acute  wretchedness  for  hours,  or  minutes  that  seemed 
like  hours.  And  then  there  had  been  the  day  that 
Gibbs  was  so  rude  to  the  Lanes,  innocent  callers  at 
the  studio,  and  there  had  been  the  awful  day  he  whip 
ped  Tommy,  after,  as  Ellen  put  it,  deliberately  goading 
a  baby  of  less  than  four  years  into  such  a  state  of 
excitement  that  he  didn't  know  whether  he  was  telling 
the  truth  or  not. 

But  this  was  different.  Gibbs  had  taken  a  dislike 
to  Joe  and  he  and  Ellen  could  hardly  mention  Joe  with 
out  feeling.  Gibbs  told  Ellen  impatiently  that  Joe 
was  all  right,  he  might  be  a  decent  enough  fellow  and 
all  that,  but  that  he,  Gibbs,  did  not  like  to  have  Joe 
choked  down  his  throat  all  the  time.  Josselyn,  Senior, 
was  inclined  to  be  hospitable  to  Ellen's  brother,  to 
bring  him  home  to  Sunday  lunch,  or  to  keep  him  for 
dinner  after  the  Saturday  tennis.  George  Lathrop 
was  often  at  "Villino  dell'  Orto,"  and  Harriet  and  Joe 
naturally  drifted  together.  But  Lillian,  Ellen  divined 
at  once,  did  not  like  Joe;  Joe  had  absolutely  nothing 
to  contribute  to  Lillian's  life,  and  Ellen  suspected  that 


134  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

Lillian,  in  her  languid  and  indirect  manner,  had  in 
fluenced  Gibbs  without  his  knowing  it. 

One  hot  evening  late  in  June  Ellen  went  upstairs 
tired  and  exasperated  after  a  wasted  day.  She  had 
motored  to  Huntington  with  Lillian  for  a  luncheon 
and  bridge  party,  and  had  been  talking  and  eating  and 
laughing  all  day.  Now  her  skin  felt  dry  and  hot, 
her  head  ached,  and  she  was  experiencing  the  exhaus 
tion  of  a  suddenly  lessened  tension.  She  had  stopped 
at  the  nursery  to  find  Lizzie  alone  and  sulky.  Mr. 
Latimer  had  not  yet  brought  Tommy  back'm.  Yes'm, 
it  was  quarter  past  six. 

Ellen  went  on  to  her  own  room  to  find  Gibbs  flung 
across  the  bed  in  one  of  the  heavy  naps  with  which  he 
sometimes  recruited  his  forces  for  the  evening's  de 
mands.  He  rolled  over  when  she  came  in,  and  lay 
there  blinking  and  staring  between  yawns  at  the  ceiling. 

"Time  is  it?"  he  asked  presently,  and  when  she  told 
him  he  added:  "Damn  a  seven  o'clock  dinner  any 
way!  My  head  feels  rotten!" 

"You  smoke  too  much!"  Ellen  suggested  dis 
passionately. 

He  himself  had  often  admitted  it,  and  also  admitted 
that  he  could  not  drink  as  steadily  as  the  other  men. 
But  he  scowled  at  this  reminder.  The  truth  was  that 
late  hours,  rich  food,  hot  weather,  alcoholic  stimulants, 
and  the  unnatural  life  they  were  leading  were  bad  for 
them  both,  and  any  pretext  would  serve  in  these  days 
for  a  quarrel. 

"Where's  Tom?"  Gibbs  now  asked.  Ellen  knew 
that  he  knew,  and  that  he  had  deliberately  selected  a 
question  that  would  imply  a  criticism  of  her  manage 
ment. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  135 

"Joe's  coming  over  to  dinner,  Gibbs,  with  the 
Lathrops.  And  he  isn't  to  dress,  you  know,  for  they've 
been  out  in  the  boat  all  afternoon.  So  I  said  not  to 
bother  to  get  Tommy  home  before  seven,  he  can  have 
a  simple  dinner  and  pop  into  bed  as  soon  as  he  gets 
here." 

Gibbs  was  now  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  with 
his  silver  hair  in  a  mop  over  his  flushed  face,  and  his 
head  in  his  hands. 

"I  must  say  I  don't  approve  of  this  constant  up 
setting  of  Tom's  routine!"  he  observed. 

Ellen,  now  at  her  dressing  table,  with  the  stiff  lines 
of  a  silk  robe  falling  about  her,  flushed  in  her  turn. 

"Last  night  you  kept  him  up  until  quarter  of  eight," 
she  answered  lightly.  She  scored  here,  for  Lillian  had 
had  friends  for  a  later  dinner  the  day  before  and  had 
captured  Tommy,  and  made  him  bring  down  his 
violin.  The  child  had  been  reluctant  to  play  the 
simple  little  airs  he  knew,  and  Gibbs's  paternal  author 
ity  had  been  needed,  and  the  threat  of  a  whipping. 
Ellen  had  been  excruciatingly  uncomfortable  during 
this  scene,  and  had  presently  escaped  with  Tommy 
upstairs,  almost  as  near  tears  as  the  child  was. 

"You  simply  said  that  to  be  nasty,"  Gibbs  re 
marked  with  some  heat.  "You  know  the  child  is  out 
too  late,  you  know  that  no  sensible  mother  would  allow 
a  child  of  six  to  go  off  in  a  yacht,  and  yet  you  deliber 
ately  permit — 

"There  was  nothing  deliberate  about  it,  Gibbs! 
Tommy  and  I  went  over  to  see  Aunt  Elsie  this  morn 
ing,  in  the  small  car.  And  Joe  was  home,  and  asked 
to  keep  him.  You  know  perfectly  well " 

"I  know  perfectly  well  that  any  crazy  thing  that  Joe 


136  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

proposes  appeals  to  you!  Anything  to  show  me  how 
absolutely  indifferent  you  are  to  my  wishes ! "  Gibbs's 
tone  was  bitter;  he  walked  to  his  dresser,  and  gloomily 
began  to  jerk  open  the  drawers.  Ellen,  frightened, 
began  to  feel  that  their  idle  anger  had  carried  them  too 
far. 

"Gibbs,  don't  talk  like  that!"  she  said,  in  a  changed 
tone,  a  tone  more  distressed  than  angry.  Ordinarily, 
the  faint  indication  of  a  desire  to  conciliate  would  have 
softened  Gibbs,  but  he  was  still  in  the  prickly  discom 
fort  of  awakening  after  a  daytime  sleep,  and  he  an 
swered  bitingly: 

"Oh,  don't  let  anything  I  say  count!  I'm  not  Joe,  of 
course!"  And  as  Ellen  was  silent,  with  hurt  tears  in 
her  eyes,  he  added  grumblingly:  "If  George  Lathrop 
wants  Joe  for  a  son-in-law,  just  because  his  daughter 
has  set  her  heart  on  him,  and  if  you  want  to  see  your 
brother  every  day,  and  three  times  a  day — well  and 
good!  All  I  say  is:  I'm  done!" 

"It's  Lillian  that  has  set  you  against  Joe!"  Ellen 
burst  out  angrily.  "I  know  the  way  she  talks  about 
him,  in  that  pleasant,  amused  voice  of  hers!  She's 
made  you  think  he  was  countryfied  and  stupid  and 
slow  just  because  he's  never  fallen  in  love  with  her " 

"That's  enough!"  Gibbs  said,  in  a  stern  voice. 
Ellen,  even  as  she  spoke,  had  had  a  feeling  that  it  was 
more  than  enough.  She  stopped  speaking,  ashamed 
and  sulky,  and  went  on  with  her  hairdressing.  There 
was  a  silence  in  the  room  for  perhaps  two  minutes,  and 
then  Gibbs  added  with  cold  disapproval:  "After  all 
Lillian  has  done  for  you — treating  you  absolutely  like  a 
sister !" 

Then  again  there  was  a  pause,  broken  this  time  by 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  137 

the  entry  of  Joe  and  Tommy  from  the  nursery  through 
the  bathroom.  Joe  was  in  white  flannels,  and  looked 
his  best.  He  was  burned  brown  by  the  afternoon  on 
the  water,  and  there  was  a  pleasant  new  gravity  and 
thoughtfulness  in  his  manner  that  Ellen  liked.  She 
had  noticed  it  before  to-day,  but  just  now  it  seemed 
especially  marked. 

Tommy  had  had  his  supper  on  the  yacht,  it  appeared. 
He  was  theoretically  anxious  to  be  allowed  to  stay  up, 
actually  his  tired,  sunburned  little  lids  were  falling 
over  his  eyes.  Ellen  welcomed  her  little  brother  almost 
as  warmly  as  she  did  her  son.  She  put  her  arms  about 
Joe's  neck,  and  the  silk  sleeves  slipped  up  to  the  shoul 
ders.  She  knew  Gibbs  particularly  resented  Joe's 
manner  of  coming  and  going  informally  to  and  from 
their  rooms,  but  she  could  not  be  unkind  to  Joe  to 
please  Gibbs. 

"If  you  don't  mind,  Joe — Ellen  and  I  are  dressing," 
Gibbs  punished  her  by  saying  icily.  Joe,  in 
stantly  apologetic,  withdrew.  The  Josselyns  did  not 
speak  to  each  other  for  the  remainder  of  the  period 
of  dressing,  nor,  except  when  it  was  unavoidable,  for 
several  days. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

GIBBS  had  set  up  his  easel  in  his  father's  study,  and 
was  keeping  his  hand  in,  as  he  expressed  it,  by  making 
a  pastel  sketch  of  Josselyn,  Senior.  The  study  was  a 
small  room  so  cunningly  concealed  by  the  mazes  of 
the  house  that  the  occupant  might  be  sure  of  privacy 
whenever  he  desired  it  there.  A  stairway  wound  over 
it,  and  a  deep  slope  of  ceiling  gave  an  odd  touch  to  the 
room;  there  was  a  small  fireplace  with  dogs  of  filagree 
Italian  iron-work,  the  handsomest  rug  in  the  house 
was  here;  an  old  chest  of  Spanish  make  stood  beside 
the  fire;  a  tattered  tapestry  covered  almost  an  entire 
wall.  The  study  was  lighted  at  night  by  several  hang 
ing  lamps  of  brass  or  iron  each  one  a  museum  piece,  and 
in  the  daytime  by  four  small  square  windows  set  with 
green  bottle-ends.  The  curiously  panelled  walls  had 
been  brought  entire  from  England,  as  had  the  smoke- 
darkened  mantel.  It  was  a  treasure  house  of  every 
thing  the  old  man  held  especially  dear.  Over  the  fire 
place  were  the  crossed  sword  and  gun  he  had  carried  in 
the  Transvaal,  twenty  years  ago.  Set  between  the 
teakwood  surface  of  a  long  narrow  table  and  the  crys 
tal  that  covered  it  was  a  curious  scroll,  preserved 
miraculously  from  the  Ming  dynasty;  on  the  mantel 
stood  a  gentle  ivory  Virgin  that  had  been  washed 
from  some  wreck  to  the  coast  of  Portugal,  a  tiny 
figure  of  superlative  beauty  and  simplicity. 

Ellen  loved  this  room,  and  sometimes  spent  a  happy 

138 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  139 

evening  here,  if  Gibbs  were  kept  in  town  by  any 
especial  affair  at  the  club,  playing  cribbage  with  hef 
faJher-in-law.  Lillian,  drowsing  beside  the  fire,  would 
listen  half-smiling  to  their  war  of  words  and  points, 
open  her  book,  and  shut  it  idly  again.  She  would  be 
quite  frankly  bored  on  these  occasions,  but  Ellen 
loved  the  quiet  and  peace,  and  suspected  that  the  old 
man  was  never  so  happy  as  in  this  environment. 

It  was  his  whim  never  to  allow  strangers  in  this 
room.  Ellen,  with  his  permission,  had  taken  Joe 
there,  and  marvelled  with  him  over  its  various  contents. 
Tommy  was  a  privileged  visitor,  and  came  and  went 
with  royal  contempt  for  restriction.  He  turned  the  big 
key  in  the  Spanish  chest,  a  key  half  as  long  as  his  small 
arm;  the  gun  was  lifted  down  for  him  to  handle,  it  was 
to  be  his  gun  some  day;  he  hung  over  the  Chinese 
scroll  in  utter  fascination.  He  deeply  amused  his 
grandfather  by  calling  it  "our  room,"  indeed  all  the 
"Villino  dell'  Orto"  was  to  Tommy  now  "my  house." 

Gibbs  painted  his  father  as  they  who  knew  him  sc 
often  saw  him,  his  silver  head  fallen  slightly  forward, 
his  eyes  half  shut  in  smiling  reverie,  his  pipe  in  one 
fine  hand,  and  the  other  lying  arrested  on  the  open 
pages  of  a  great  book.  Lazily  done  in  the  spare 
hours  of  a  few  midsummer  weeks,  it  was  stamped  by 
the  touch  of  a  great  artist.  Presently  Lillian  had  it 
carried  to  the  upstairs  drawing-room,  where  all  the  world 
might  admire  it,  and  Gibbs  was  more  of  a  lion  than 
ever. 

There  was  no  formal  reconciliation  between  Gibbs 
and  his  wife,  but  after  a  few  days  they  began  to  'speak 
to  each  other  again.  The  breach  did  not  entirely  heal. 


140  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

however,  and  Ellen  felt  a  change  in  their  relationship 
from  that  day.  Gibbs  went  to  the  city  three  or  four 
times  a  week.  Sometimes  Ellen  went  with  him,  and 
they  hunted  for  a  studio  together.  But  the  old  spirit 
of  comradeship  seemed  gone. 

He  came  back  from  town  one  day  and  announced 
that  he  had  found  his  atelier,  describing  a  place  that 
sounded  near  enough  to  his  ideal.  But  Ellen's  heart 
turned  to  lead  as  she  heard  him.  It  was  not  to  be  a 
home — just  a  work  shop!  His  home  life  was  still  to 
be  here.  It  was  on  Fifty-ninth  Street,  flooded  with 
north  light,  one  enormous  room,  one  tiny  room,  and  a 
bath,  and  the  rent  was  twelve  hundred  a  year. 

"And  janitor  service  included,"  Lillian  added  un 
thinkingly.  Ellen  and  Josselyn,  Senior,  looked  at  her 
in  surprise,  for  her  tone  was  not  that  of  question.  "I 
suppose?"  she  said,  quickly  glancing  at  Gibbs,  and 
Ellen  saw  her  colour  rise.  Instantly  she  knew,  with 
a  shock  of  almost  prostrating  jealousy,  that  Lillian 
had  seen  the  studio.  The  older  woman  had  been  in 
town  all  day,  and  had  picked  up  Gibbs  at  the  club  to 
bring  him  home.  They  had  done  this  before — there 
was  no  harm  in  that 

"Certainly!"  Gibbs  answered  smoothly.  His  col 
our  swept  up,  too.  Ellen  felt  an  agony  in  her  heart  that 
was  almost  unbearable.  He  had  taken  Lillian  to  see 
it — he  had  poked  about  it  first  with  her — opening  doors, 
discussing  advantages  and  disadvantages 

There  were  guests  at  the  table,  and  she  must  keep 
her  self-control.  Dazedly  she  laughed  and  talked,  and 
dazedly  she  somehow  got  through  the  evening.  There 
were  six  of  them,  and  they  played  a  game  of  bridge, 
interspersed  with  music  from  the  phonograph,  with 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  141 

the  passing  of  candy,  and  the  idle  discussion  of  the  new 
magazines.  It  was  midnight  when  the  younger  Jos- 
selyns  went  upstairs. 

"Gibbs,"  said  Ellen  then,  from  a  bursting  heart. 
"  Did  you  take  Lillian  to  see  the  studio  ? " 

She  knew  him  so  well;  she  could  see  the  irresolution 
in  his  eyes.  Denial? — no,  he  would  not  lie  unneces 
sarily  to  her. 

"Yes,  I  did,"  he  said  reluctantly.  If  she  knew  him 
well,  he  knew  her,  too.  He  had  been  watching  Ellen 
uneasily  all  evening,  he  was  ready  for  this.  "Yes," 
he  went  on  innocently.  "Do  you  mind?  She  came 
for  me  at  the  club,  at  four,  and  we  had  to  go  right  up 
into  that  neighbourhood — I'm  sorry  if  you  mind!" 

"If  you  thought  I  wouldn't  mind,  why  didn't  you 
say  so  straight  out?"  Ellen  demanded.  She  thought 
she  had  him,  but  Gibbs,  hanging  his  tie  on  the  rack, 
merely  looked  thoughtful. 

"If  I  tell  you,  will  you  please  not  mention  it?"  he 
surprised  her  by  asking.  "It's  this:  Dad  hates  her 
to  go  anywhere  with  any  other  man,  even  with  me. 
He's  perfectly  decent  about  it  in  public,  and  he  gives 
her  the  deuce  in  private!  He  was  to  be  with  us  to-day 
you  know  or  she  never  would  have  come  for  me  at  all 
— she's  awfully  sweet  about  it,  and  as  usual,  she  hum 
ours  him!" 

"She's— clever!"  Ellen  said  briefly.  If  Gibbs  did 
not  like  this  enigmatic  answer,  he  gave  no  indication  of 
displeasure  beyond  a  faint  scowl.  He  was  presently 
sound  asleep,  with  no  further  reference  to  the  matter. 

But  Ellen,  twisting  with  wretched  thoughts,  lay 
awake  for  hours.  At  first  she  mused  only  upon  the 
bitterness  of  the  simple  fact:  Gibbs  had  selected  a 


142  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

studio  without  any  appeal  to  the  judgment  of  his  wife.' 
Ah,  how  different  that  was  from  the  choosing  of  the 
last  studio,  the  blessed  little  apartment  on  "Madame 
la  Montaigne":  she  had  been  on  his  arm  then,  exclaim 
ing  over  rents,  dimpling  on  the  dark  stairs  they  climbed 
and  climbed  and  climbed  after  the  concierges!  How 
they  had  exulted  over  the  boxes  from  home,  over  the 
placing  of  every  chair  and  rug,  and  how  they  had  sallied 
forth,  hungry  and  tired,  to  be  fed  and  soothed  and 
amused  by  the  city  of  romance  and  beauty! 

These  thoughts  were  sad  enough,  and  tears  began  to 
creep  down  Ellen's  cheeks,  and  her  head  to  ache  with 
her  efforts  at  self-control.  But  presently  a  fresh 
thought  came,  and  the  tears  dried,  and  Ellen's  heart 
began  to  beat  hard  again  with  agony  and  fear. 

Lillian  had  gone  into  town  the  night  before,  Tuesday 
night,  to  dine  and  spend  the  night  with  friends,  and 
Gibbs  and  his  father  were  to  take  the  car  in,  on 
Wednesday  morning,  and  meet  her  for  lunch.  Ellen  had 
been  originally  included  in  this  plan,  but  had  excused 
herself  because  Tommy's  nurse  was  not  well,  and  his 
mother  was  enjoying  a  monopoly  of  his  care  for  a  few 
days.  And  on  Wednesday  morning  Josselyn,  Senior, 
had  asked  Gibbs  to  go  to  the  city  without  him,  he  had 
really  preferred  the  idle  country  day  with  Ellen  and 
Tommy.  He  had  telephoned  Lillian  at  her  friend's 
hotel  that  Gibbs  had  the  car,  if  she  wanted  it  she  was 
to  telephone  Gibbs  at  the  club.  Now  Ellen  writhed 
with  the  sudden  conviction  that  they  had  met  in  the 
morning,  and  lunched  together,  and  hunted  for  studios 
all  afternoon. 

She  dared  not  ask  him:  it  was  to  ask  him  to  confess 
to  a  lie.  More  than  that,  it  was  to  kill  her  confidence 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  143 

in  him  with  one  blow.  But  Ellen  never  knew  a  mo 
ment's  ease  after  that.  She  looked  at  Lillian's  beauti 
ful,  sphinxlike  face  the  next  day,  vainly  trying  to  read  it. 
Her  heart  began  to  beat  suffocatingly  when  her  father- 
in-law  chanced  to  ask  his  wife,  at  luncheon,  how  she 
had  spent  the  previous  day.  Was  it  mere  accident 
that  took  Lillian's  splendid  eyes  to  Gibbs's  before  she 
answered?  She  had  shopped  with  Mildred,  and  had 
seen  her  off  at  one  o'clock,  and  had  had  a  sort  of 
luncheon-tea  all  by  herself. 

"You  should  have  come  straight  home;  that  was  a 
tiring  visit,"  the  old  man  said.  Lillian  smiled  at  him 
affectionately  for  her  only  answer.  Ellen  felt  that 
she  never  appreciated  the  safety  and  the  power  of 
silence. 

"You  had  no  trouble  getting  hold  of  the  car?'* 
Josselyn,  Senior,  pursued  suddenly. 

"No."  Again  she  glanced  at  Gibbs,  again  was 
silent.  Gibbs  was  the  next  speaker,  with  a  cheerful 
and  general  inquiry: 

"Who's  doing  what  this  afternoon?" 

The  studio  was  formally  opened  in  September,  with 
a  tea.  The  artist's  pretty,  blue-eyed  little  wife  was 
present  on  this  occasion,  suitably,  nay,  charmingly* 
dressed,  chatting  with  neglected  guests,  keeping  a 
watchful  eye  upon  tea-cups,  playing  her  part  well. 
His  father  was  also  there,  a  handsome  and  dignified 
figure,  erect,  white-haired,  obviously  full  of  pride  in  his" 
son.  And  the  little,  dark-haired  boy  was  there,  for  a 
few  minutes,  keeping  close  to  the  musicians,  amusing 
the  ladies  with  his  pretty  French. 

But  it  was  his  beautiful  young  stepmother  who 


144  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

shared  with  Gibbs  Josselyn  the  interest  of  his  guests, 
who  was  with  him  the  romantic  and  fascinating  centre 
of  attraction.  Lillian  was  at  her  loveliest,  radiant  and 
smiling,  the  mysterious  and  astonishing  perfection  of 
her  face  enhanced  by  the  Juliet-like  little  cap  of  pearls 
that  held  her  glorious  hair  in  place,  and  by  the  rich 
colours  of  her  gown.  She  wore  a  marvellous  garment 
of  old  brocade,  in  which  fruity  colours  were  mingled 
with  gold  and  silver  threads,  and  from  her  shoulders 
a  filmy  black  overgarment  floated  loose,  caught  with 
a  bracelet  of  pearls  at  either  wrist,  and  weighted 
loosely  at  its  hem  by  dull  embroideries  in  pearls. 
Lillian  said  that  she  had  had  this  robe  for  years  without 
an  opportunity  to  wear  it;  this  was  her  opportunity, 
and  she  made  the  most  of  it.  Anything  more  lovely 
than  the  picture  she  made  in  it,  even  heartsick  Ellen  had 
to  admit  she  could  not  imagine. 

Wherever  Lillian  moved,  the  crowd  swayed  with 
her,  and  in  it  was  always  the  silver  head,  and  the  tall, 
trimly-built  figure  of  the  hero  of  the  hour.  Her  rich, 
amused  voice,  with  its  undercurrents  of  mystery,  of 
suggestion,  was  the  foundation  of  the  conversation. 
And  when  she  turned  to  Gibbs,  as  she  was  con 
stantly  turning,  and  asked  him  a  simple  question  and 
received  his  answering  monosyllable,  it  would  have 
been  an  obtuse  observer  indeed  who  did  not  instantly 
perceive  the  thrilling  current  of  awakening  passion 
that  ran  between  the  two.  His  lightest  word  to  her 
was  fraught  with  it,  his  most  fleeting  glance  betrayed 
it.  At  the  end  of  the  long  three  hours,  when  the  guests 
had  lingered  out,  one  by  one,  and  she  stood  by  the  fire 
place,  tired,  drooping,  superb,  barely  raising  her  eyes 
as  she  spoke  to  him,  they  might  have  been  alone  in  the 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  145 

world.  What  did  he  say  as  he  bent  toward  her,  what 
did  his  smiling  eyes  say  ? 

Ellen  did  not  know,  or  care.  The  words  were  noth 
ing,  the  look  was  nothing,  it  was  the  trembling  intensity 
with  which  they  charged  them  that  ate  into  her  soul 
like  acid  upon  a  plate.  None  of  them  was  sane  now, 
Ellen  perhaps  the  least  of  the  three.  She  was  burning 
with  an  agony  of  jealousy  and  doubt  and  anger  far 
more  painful  than  any  actual  fire  would  have  been. 
She  was  conscious  of  Gibbs  and  Lillian  every  instant 
of  the  day. 

They  were  not  often  alone  together,  after  all.  A 
moment  in  the  long  drawing  room,  before  dinner,  a 
few  sentences  murmured  in  her  ear  as  Gibbs  crossed 
the  tennis  court  at  Lillian's  side,  perhaps  a  stolen  tea- 
hour  once  a  week  in  the  city;  this  was  the  most.  Even 
for  this  there  must  be  endless  contriving  and  tireless 
intrigue.  Ellen  could  not  tell  what  was  suspicion, 
what  fact,  what  was  mere  innocent  chance,  and  what 
was  deliberate  arrangement. 

Sometimes,  watching,  watching,  watching,  forlorn 
and  lonely,  she  longed  to  tear  aside  the  veil  of  kindness 
and  happiness  in  which  her  life  was  wrapped,  and  fling 
herself  sobbing  upon  her  husband. 

"Gibbs,  Gibbs,  my  darling!  How  much  of  it  is 
true — how  much  of  it  is  my  wretched  imagination? 
Have  you  let  yourself  come  to  care  for  her — have  you 
forgotten  me?  I  am  your  life — I  am  your  past  and 
present — I  alone!  Let  us  leave  all  this  behind  us  and 
go  somewhere  where  we  may  be  poor  again,  and  you 
shall  paint,  and  I  will  mend  and  cook,  and  all  the  old 
joy  will  come  back  to  us  again!" 

She  dared  not  say  it.     What  woman  ever  did  dare? 


146  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

She  had  lost  so  much,  she  dared  not  risk  more.  Ellen 
never  had  had  much  self-confidence,  she  lost  it  all  now. 
She  became  afraid.  Lillian  could  take  Gibbs's  love 
away  from  her,  perhaps  Lillian  could  make  him  leave 
her  and  Tommy  completely.  Perhaps  Lillian  wanted 
more  than  his  passing  admiration.  Well,  and  if  so, 
what  could  a  tearful,  disheartened,  crushed  little  Ellen 
do? 

Sometimes,  in  her  misery,  it  would  seem  to  her  that 
her  reason  must  give  way.  The  blow  had  been  too 
sharp  and  too  sudden.  Why,  they  had  reached 
America  only  a  few  months  ago,  and  he  had  been  all 
her  own  then,  he  had  spoiled  her,  and  idolized  her,  and 
told  her  all  his  joys  and  sorrows.  And  now  she  felt 
that  they  hardly  spoke  the  same  tongue. 

She  would  take  Tommy  for  long  walks  through  the 
sweet  country  lanes,  and  come  back  with  her  arms  full 
of  goldenrod  and  the  first  red  leaves.  And  while  she 
walked  she  would  be  busy  trying  to  persuade  herself 
that  it  had  all  been  a  sad  dream.  Gibbs  had  perhaps 
fancied  Lillian  for  a  few  weeks  in  the  summer,  but  it 
was  over  now.  It  had  waned,  it  was  dead,  he  was 
turning  back  to  her  again.  She  was  sure  of  it. 

And  then  would  come  the  hour  of  dressing  for  dinner, 
with  a  kindly  and  abstracted  Gibbs,  and  the  dinner 
hour  itself,  when  Ellen  was  silent,  and  the  old  man 
pleasantly  talkative,  and  when  Lillian  and  Gibbs, 
barely  addressing  each  other,  were  wrapped  in  a  quiver 
ing  zone  of  thrilling  communion.  Ah,  she  could  not 

bear  it — she  could  not  bear  it !  She  was  hardly 

conscious  of  what  she  said  or  did,  as  courage  and  hope 
died  out  of  her  heart,  and  the  familiar  torture  re 
commenced. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  147 

Gibbs  was  entirely  unconscious  of  her  suffering, 
because  he  was  almost  unconscious  of  her  existence. 
He  had  never  forgotten  his  wife  for  his  business  or  his 
art,  as  many  man  do,  but  in  the  intensity  of  his  new 
passion  Ellen  was  completely  lost  to  him.  So  might 
a  man  feel  if  he  were  suddenly  stretched  upon  the  rack. 

Gibbs  knew  that  Ellen  was  there,  just  as  Tommy 
and  Lizzie  and  his  father  were  there,  in  the  house  at 
Wheatley  Hills,  but  his  senses  responded  to  nothing 
but  Lillian.  He  talked  to  his  father,  to  Lizzie,  to  Ellen, 
and  he  read  books  to  Tommy  and  even  played  with 
the  child,  but  all  the  time  his  veins  ran  fire,  and  all  the 
time  his  mind  was  busy  anticipating  the  next  moment 
he  might  have  alone  with  her,  or  remembering  the  last. 
The  words  she  had  said — she  said  so  little — the  touch  of 
her  satin-smooth  hand,  the  look  in  the  sombre,  lifted 
eyes,  these  were  his  food,  his  drink,  his  waking  and  his 
sleeping.  She  had  told  him  of  her  girlhood,  of  her 
loveless  marriage  that  yet  she  had  managed  to  make 
honorable  and  happy,  of  her  utter  loneliness.  In 
broken  phrases  exquisitely  significant  she  had  told  him 
of  the  joy  of  his  coming.  All  this  had  not  been  given 
him  at  once,  but  in  a  few  words  by  the  moondial  one 
evening,  and  a  few  more  murmured  at  the  fireside  the 
next  night,  while  Ellen  was  idly  turning  and  trying 
music  at  the  piano,  and  the  old  man  sat  reading  under 
the  lamp.  Tiny  snatches  of  confidence,  infinitely  dear, 
and — Gibbs  might  have  said — entirely  innocent! 

A  moment  came  when  he  had  her  in  his  arms.  Only 
a  moment,  but  it  left  its  scar  on  them  both.  They 
were  in  the  studio,  Lillian  and  her  husband  had  called 
to  bring  him  home,  and  Lillian  had  run  up  the  stairs, 
and  come  in  upon  him  in  the  dusk.  His  subject,  one 


148  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

of  the  winter's  prospective  debutantes,  had  gone  away 
with  her  maid,  and  he  was  alone.  Lillian,  with  her 
bright  hair  trimly  covered  by  her  motor-hat,  and  her 
figure  lost  in  the  folds  of  a  loose,  soft,  mustard-coloured 
coat,  had  come  close  to  him,  had  stood  staring  at  the 
picture  with  her  mysterious  eyes. 

"Gibbs — it's  too  wonderful!" 

"Like  it?"  Gibbs  asked,  trying  to  seem  indiffer 
ent  to  her  praise. 

"What  you  might  have  done — what  you  might 
have  done  in  a  different  environment!"  Lillian  said,' 
as  if  to  herself.  "To  tie  you  down  to  domesticities — 
you!" 

The  soft,  deep  voice  died  away  into  silence.  It  was 
twilight  in  the  studio,  the  end  of  a  wonderful  Indian 
summer  day  was  dying  in  the  park.  A  cooler  breeze 
than  the  city  had  known  for  many  hours  drifted  in 
through  the  open  studio  windows,  faintly  the  strains  of 
a  hurdy-gurdy  came  gaily  from  the  street:  "Where 
the  River  Shannon's  Flowing " 

Gibbs  was  perhaps  a  little  tired.  The  day  had  been 
long  and  hot  and  dirty.  He  glanced  at  Lillian,  all 
fragrance  and  freshness,  ready  to  whirl  him  away  into 
another  world  of  greenness  and  silence  and  beauty. 
Her  frail  white  blouse  was  open  at  the  throat,  a  faint 
perfume  disengaged  itself  from  her,  and,  through  his 
sleeve,  he  felt  the  delicious  warmth  of  the  hand  she  had 
laid,  as  if  unconsciously,  upon  his  arm. 

Suddenly  he  put  his  arms  about  her,  crushed  her  to 
him,  and  kissed  her  hungrily.  She  did  not  resist  him, 
but  brushed  her  lovely  face  aside,  so  that  his  second  kiss 
fell  on  her  white  temple,  where  the  golden-brown  hair 
was  swept  back,  He  felt  her  breast  rise  in  a  quick 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  149 

£ 

breath  against  his  heart,  and  the  fingers  on  his  arm 
tightened. 

When,  after  a  dizzy  moment,  they  stood  facing 
each  other,  breathing  hard,  and  still  with  fingers  locked, 
she  seemed  as  confused  as  he.  She  did  not  smile,  there 
was  a  half-frightened,  half-questioning  look  in  her 
magnificent  eyes. 

"I'm  sorry!"  Gibbs  said,  in  a  whisper.  "I'm 
awfully  sorry!" 

Lillian  did  not  speak.  She  released  her  hands,  and 
went  slowly  toward  the  door.  Gibbs  remained  stand 
ing  where  he  was,  motionless. 

At  the  door  she  hesitated,  her  back  toward  him  in 
its  loose  coat  of  mustard  colour.  Suddenly  she  turned, 
and  over  her  shoulder  gave  him  a  swift,  half-sad,  half- 
mischievous  smile.  Then  she  was  gone. 

A  vista  seemed  to  open  before  Gibbs  with  that 
smile.  For  days  he  saw  nothing  else,  for  days  there 
rang  in  his  head  only  a  bewildered  question. 

After  this  episode  Lillian  quite  pointedly  avoided 
him.  She  was  seriously  trying  to  get  her  thoughts  in 
order.  She  was  bewildered  herself.  Lillian  had  begun 
her  flirtation  with  Gibbs  just  as  she  began  a  flirtation 
with  every  other  eligible  man.  Her  way  with  no  two  of 
them  was  the  same,  but  she  rarely  failed.  Upon  such 
men  as  Joe  and  George  she  wasted  no  time.  Honest, 
simple,  blue-eyed  Ellen  might  have  them  unchallenged, 
and  might  discuss  with  them  the  proper  culture  of  holly 
hocks,  and  the  weather,  and  Tommy's  latest  precocity. 
But  Gibbs  had  been  marked  for  her  steel  from  the 
moment  when  her  eyes  had  found  his  silver  head  next; 
to  Ellen's,  on  the  steamer  deck. 


150  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

She  had  won  him  with  the  oldest  and  simplest 
method.  Lillian  might  have  said  that  there  are  many 
tools  for  the  opening  of  a  man's  heart,  but  flattery  is 
the  handle  that  fits  them  all.  She  had  flattered  him 
so  steadily  yet  so  subtly  that  before  many  weeks  Gibbs 
had  come  unconsciously  to  hunger  for  the  sweetness 
of  her  glances  and  her  words,  had  known  that  no  least 
charm  or  gift  of  his  was  unappreciated.  She  had  told 
him  that  there  were  beauties  in  his  hand,  in  the  crisp 
curve  of  the  silver  hair  from  his  forehead,  she  had 
said  that  there  was  sometimes  a  look  in  his  eyes  that 
made  a  little  boy  of  him  again.  She  had  a  hundred 
names  for  him;  he  was  "her  firebrand,"  "her  hawk," 
he  "frightened"  her,  he  was  "cruel"  to  her.  Some 
times  she  would  thrill  him  from  head  to  heels  by  raising 
piteous  eyes  to  his  face,  and  half-murmuring,  half- 
whispering: 

"Don't — don't  look  at  me  so,  to-day,  Gibbs. 
I'm  sad  enough  without  that  terrible  look  of  yours. 
It  makes  me  a  naughty  child  again,  Gibbs — I'm  afraid 
of  myself  when  your  eyes  say  things  like  that!" 

It  was  no  longer  play-acting  for  Gibbs,  although 
there  was  no  real  tragedy  in  it  for  him  yet,  there  was 
nothing  but  excitement  and  suspense,  and  thrilled 
anticipation.  He  did  not  definitely  plan  any  future 
for  their  love;  perhaps  he  did  not  even  call  it  love.  He 
was  carried  off  his  feet  by  the  atmosphere  of  adulation 
in  which  he  was  floating,  and  Lillian's  extraordinary 
physical  charm  had  bound  him  tightly  in  her  toils. 
Again  like  a  man  on  a  rack,  he  was  conscious  of  no 
future,  no  past,  it  was  all  present.  His  thoughts  went 
no  further  than  the  tea-hour,  when  he  might  find  her 
in  the  long  drawing  room,  or  than  the  approacning 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  151 

evening,  when  she  would  sit,  superbly  silent  and  lovely, 
at  the  dinner  table,  listening,  smiling,  and  occasionally 
bringing  the  full  glory  of  her  eyes  to  meet  his. 

With  Lillian,  too,  the  game  had  progressed  beyond 
its  calmly  defined  limits.  She  was  absolutely  incap 
able  of  love,  as  she  herself  knew.  She  had  never 
loved  any  human  being  but  herself  in  all  her  life,  al 
though  she  had  cultivated  in  herself  many  of  the  soft 
and  endearing  appearances  of  love.  The  sex  sense, 
also,  was  strong  in  her,  she  had  more  than  her  share  of 
unfailing  instinct  in  this  respect,  and  perhaps  the  only 
times  when  she  was  truly  happy  were  when  she  knew 
herself  to  be  drawing  steadily  toward  her  some  new 
admirer.  For  this  end  she  dressed  and  studied  and 
preserved  her  beauty,  for  this  end  she  went  about  from 
lecture  to  concert,  from  tea  to  dinner.  The  world 
was  full  of  possibilities  along  her  especial  line  of  con 
quest,  and  Lillian  drifted  like  an  octopus  on  soft  tides, 
and  laid  her  gentle  tentacles  upon  whatever  she  desired. 

She  loved  the  preliminaries,  the  first  full,  innocent 
look  into  a  man's  eyes,  the  first  significant  phrase  that 
brought  to  his  consciousness  the  startling  knowledge: 
"Why,  I  am  I,  and  you  are  you!"  She  knew  the  pre 
texts  by  which  he  would  manage  to  send  her  a  first 
note:  she  knew  just  what  to  say  and  what  to  imply  in 
her  first  answer,  and  that  he  would  keep  it,  and  read  it  a 
hundred  times. 

To  have  her  handsome  son-in-law  at  her  feet  was  a 
delicious  experience  for  Lillian.  Like  Gibbs  himself, 
she  was  always  conscious  of  the  exquisite  setting  af 
forded  by  the  "Villino  dell'  Orto,"  and  of  the  dramatic 
elements  of  the  situation.  But  of  late  there  had  been 
a  new  possibility  in  her  thoughts. 


153  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

She  had  been  intensely  surprised  at  the  experience  o! 
Gibbs's  studio  tea.  He  had  sent  out  perhaps  a  hundred 
and  fifty  invitations,  and  Lillian,  working  over  the  list 
of  guests  with  Ellen  and  himself  on  a  summer  morning, 
had  been  astonished  at  his  self-confidence.  She  had 
not  known  that  he  could  claim  so  many  of  the  city's 
distinguished  men  and  women  as  his  friends.  Her 
own  social  experiences  had  been  marked  with  extraor 
dinary  successes,  the  Josselyn  name  had  been  a  powerful 
"Open,  Sesame,"  but  she  knew  in  her  own  soul  that 
there  had  been  failures,  too,  snubs  and  coldnesses, 
there  were  persons  who  never  had  accepted  the  second 
Mrs.  Josselyn,  and  who  never  would. 

She  said  to  herself  that  Gibbs's  so-called  friends  would 
not  come  to  his  tea;  but  they  did  come,  and  their  atti 
tude  of  affectionate  admiration  toward  him  was  not 
lost  upon  Lillian. 

Hitherto  her  position  as  the  wife  of  a  prominent  and 
rich  man  had  satisfied  her.  She  had  never  outlived 
her  first  sense  of  triumph  in  achieving  it.  Only  a  year 
or  two  before  she  had  assured  Lindsay  Pepper  that  she 
was  not  inclined  to  change  it  for  any  charms  that  youth 
and  love  could  offer.  But  now  she  perceived  new 
heights.  Gibbs  Josselyn's  wife  would  have  the  world 
at  her  feet. 

Lillian  concerned  herself  with  no  details.  She  left 
those  to  others.  She  simply  dwelt  upon  the  thought: 
Gibbs  Josselyn's  wife  would  have  the  world  at  her  feet. 

She  was  noticeably  kind  to  Ellen  in  these  days.  With 
a  sort  of  dreamy  gentleness  she  would  come  to  lay  her 
hand  about  Ellen's  shoulders,  to  admire  the  flowers 
the  younger  woman  was  arranging,  or  she  would  pat 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  153 

the  chair  next  to  her  chair  on  the  terrace,  and  when 
Ellen  took  it,  she  would  devote  herself  to  the  making  of 
congenial  plans  for  the  day.  Ellen  was  helpless.  She 
would  look  wistfully,  eagerly,  into  Lillian's  eyes;  could 
there  be  duplicity  there,  could  there  be  cruelty  there? 

".  .  .  and  then  Tom  and  I  will  meet  you  at  the 
gallery,"  the  rich  voice  would  be  saying. 

"But,  Lillian,  why  not  all  lunch  together?" 

"Oh,  we'll  let  you  and  Gibbs  have  your  lunch  alone: 
men  like  to  have  their  wives  to  themselves  sometimes!" 
How  innocent,  how  sisterly,  the  amused  look  she  would 
give  Ellen  as  she  said  it.  Ellen  might  go  upstairs 
vaguely  heartened. 

But  eventually  the  cruel  apprehensions  shut  down 
upon  her  again.  She  came  to  hate  the  splendid  house, 
to  feel  that  some  menace  to  her  and  to  hers  was  con 
cealed  in  the  dark,  orderly  rooms,  that  the  perfect 
service  was  not  a  service  of  love,  but  of  hate.  The 
beds  that  were  mysteriously  made,  the  meals  that 
were  mysteriously  prepared,  the  letters  that  some 
unseen  hand  laid  upon  her  table,  the  gowns  that  the 
always-invisible  Keno  brushed  and  mended  and  laid 
upon  her  bed— -these  things  began  to  stifle  her! 

Ellen  had  another  trouble  in  these  days.  This  was 
a  trouble  real  and  vital  enough,  for  it  touched  Joe. 
She  had  taken  the  sisterly  liberty,  on  a  wet  October 
Sunday,  to  ask  him  if  he  and  Harriet  were  still  good 
friends. 

"Harriet  isn't  well,  Joe.  And  her  father  said  some 
thing,  last  week,  about  taking  her  to  England  for  the 
winter.  You — you  know  how  I  feel  about  her?  I 
would  be  so  sorry  to  have  things  go  wrong  just  because 


154  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

you  hadn't  the  courage '  her  voice  faltered  ner 
vously.  "It  isn't  the  money,  is  it,  Joe?"  she  added. 

He  did  not  answer.  He  was  standing  by  the  fireplace 
looking  sombrely  down  at  the  blazing  logs.  Tommy 
had  been  with  them,  his  violin  was  on  the  piano,  and 
Ellen  still  sat  on  the  piano  bench,  (her  hands  idle  in 
her  lap,  her  anxious  eyes  on  her  brother. 

"So  often  it's  just  the  little  things  that  go  wrong, 
Joe,"  she  said.  "And  then  years  later  people  say, 
'If  only  I'd  realized  that  that  was  my  opportunity — 
and  that  it  wasn't  coming  back!' " 

"It's  not  that "  Joe  began  huskily,  and  was 

silent.  Ellen  waited  expectantly,  his  gravity  troubled 
her.  Surely  there  was  nothing  seriously  wrong? 
Perhaps  Joe  had  discovered  the  secret  that  Harriet  had 
kept  from  him:  that  as  her  mother's  heiress  she  was 
far  richer  than  her  father  was.  But  no,  Joe  cared  too 
little  for  money,  either  way,  to  let  so  mythical  a  thing 
as  a  great  fortune  influence  him. 

She  looked  at  his  troubled  face  anxiously,  waiting  in 
some  perplexity  to  hear  him  speak. 

"Ellen,"  he  said  suddenly,  and  somewhat  awk 
wardly,  "I'll  tell  you  about  it.  I'm — I'm  engaged  to 
another  girl!" 

"You  what .?"  his  sister  asked,  blankly. 

"I'm  trying  to  tell  you  that  there's  another  girl — 
a  girl — who — well,  she  has  a  right ! " 

He  flushed  like  a  girl  himself  as  he  spoke,  and  avoided 
her  eyes.  Scarlet  leaped  to  Ellen's  cheeks,  and  she  felt 
her  mouth  turn  dry. 

"Joe!  What  are  you  saying!  Joe — you  can't 
mean " 

"Yes — yes — yes!"  he  answered,  with  a  sort  of  fever- 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  155 

ish  shame.  "I  do  mean  that!  I'm  ashamed  to  look 
at  you,  Ellen — but  it's  true." 

His  boyish,  rough  head  went  suddenly  down  on  his 
arm  which  was  resting  on  the  mantel.  Ellen  stood 
looking  at  him,  horror  and  incredulity  in  her  eyes. 
For  a  few  minutes  there  was  utter  silence,  in  the  music 
room.  Then  in  a  sorrowful  whisper  Ellen  said,  as  if 
to  herself: 

"Joe!    My  little  brother!" 

Standing  at  the  low  mantel,  Joe  did  not  move,  and 
again  there  was  silence.  Again  Ellen  broke  it. 

"I  always  thought  it  was  Harriet,"  she  said  sadly, 
"and  I  think  Harriet  did,  too!" 

"It  always  was  Harriet,"  Joe  said  violently.  "This 
— this  other  thing  never  had  anything  to  do  with  that! 
I've  always  loved  Harriet,  always  will!  There  isn't 
an  hour  of  the  day  that  I'm  not  thinking  of  her,  think 
ing  what  it  would  mean  to  have  her  for  my  wife! 
Her  father's  always  been  a  father  to  me,  Ellen,  I 
couldn't  love  my  own  father  more!  He's  counting 
on  it,  I  know  that.  He  talks  to  me  about  what  he 
wants  done  with  the  place — about  her  and  her  mother 
— I'm  not  blind!  I  know  what  it  means.  And  then 
I  think  of  the  other — my  God,  I  haven't  been  able  to 
sleep  nights,  thinking!" 

"Who  is  she?"  Ellen  asked  sharply,  after  a  pause. 

"She's  just  a — just  a  girl  in  the  village,"  he  answered, 
rousing  himself  from  dark  musing.  "You  never  met 
her — they've  only  lived  there  two  years.  It  was 
before  I  ever  thought  of  marrying  any  one,  Harriet 
was  in  college,  you  were  in  France — it  isn't  very  easy  to 
explain  it  to  you.'  I  knew  it  wasn't  real  love,  all  the 
time — and  yet  I  couldn't  end  it  all,  somehow !"  .,: 


156  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"Was  it  real — with  her?"  Ellen  asked,  as  he  hesi-* 
tated.  Joe  flushed  deeply. 

"I  guess  so!"  he  answered,  embarrassed. 

"She — she  wasn't  that  sort  of  a  girl?"  Ellen  asked. 

"Oh,  my  God,  no !  She  hadn't  ever  had  another  man 
friend — she  wasn't  ever  allowed  to  go  to  the  village 
dances,  even!  She — she  was  a  good  little  girl."  Joe 
sank  his  head  on  his  arms  again. 

"You  didn't  promise  marriage,  Joe?"  Ellen,  who 
was  thinking  hard,  asked  anxiously. 

"What  do  you  think  I  am!"  he  answered, impatiently. 
"Of  course  I  asked  her  to  marry  me!" 

Ellen  flushed  with  shame.  She  had  no  previous 
knowledge  by  which  to  gauge  this  affair;  she  had  no 
idea  of  the  rules.  Vague  memories  of  situations  in 
novels  drifted  through  her  mind;  they  all  seemed  hide 
ous,  remote,  they  seemed  to  have  nothing  to  do  with 
her  good,  honest,  splendid  little  brother. 

"And  she  wouldn't?"  she  asked,  uncertainly. 

"She — she  didn't  want  to  talk  about  it  at  all.  We 
never  talked  about  it.  I  suppose  that  sounds  odd,  but 
it's  true.  She  said  that  she  would  never  drag  me  down 
— or  something  like  that!  The — the  thing  was  that 
when  she  learned  that — when  I  told  her  that  it  was 
Harriet — then  that  was  the  end,  for  her.  I  don't 
think  she  ever  wanted  to  see  me  again.  She — she 
acted  a  little  crazy!" 

"Oh,  poor  child!"  Ellen  said,  wincing  at  the  thought. 
''She  didn't  know  about  Harriet,  then?" 

"Well,  yes,  she  did — all  along,  in  a  way.  But  she 
seemed  to  think  that  we — belonged  to  each  other — 
in  a  way " 

Ellen  had  dropped  into  a  chair,  her  eyes  were  sombre. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  157 

"Joe — she  will  spoil  your  life!" 

"Has,"  he  amended  simply. 

"For  this  little  village  girl,"  Ellen  summarized 
bitterly,  in  a  whisper,  "you  may  lose  the  woman  you 
really  love — your  whole  future !  Joe — Joe — Joe !  How 
could  you?" 

The  man  was  miserably  silent.  After  a  moment 
Ellen  spoke  again: 

"Who  knows  about  it,  Joe?" 

"Her  mother  knows.  Nobody  else!  The  mother 
is  a  decent  sort,  the  only  decent  one  in  the  family. 
She  hasn't  been  unkind  to  her.  Poor  girl,  nobody  could 
make  her  feel  any  worse!" 

"Oh,  dear — — !"  Ellen's  tone  was  utterly  discouraged 
and  despairing. 

"She  says  that  she  can  never  marry  now,"  Joe  pur 
sued,  gloomily,  "says  she  could  never  look  a  daughter 
of  her  own  in  the  face  and  tell  her!  My  God,  I  don't 
know  what  to  do  about  it!  I've  walked  the  floor, 
thinking  of  it,  many  and  many  a  night!" 

Ellen  looked  up  with  sudden  hope. 

"But  how  do  you  know  that  she  was  good,  Joe? 
Mightn't  she  be  just  telling  you  so —  Her  voice 

lost  confidence  at  his  look.  "No?"  she  said,  subsid 
ing. 

"She's  not  that  kind!" 

"Well,"  Ellen  said,  feebly,  "if  she  doesn't  want  you 
to  marry  her;  if  you've  offered,  and  she  has  refused — 
I  don't  see  that  you  can  do  anything  more  about  it! 
It  isn't  even  as  if  you  had  met  Harriet  afterward — 
you  always  knew,  and  always  loved,  Harriet,  and  you 
— you  owe  something  to  Harriet!" 

"I  owed,  something  to  Harriet,"  Joe  admitted,  heavily. 


158  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"You  mean — that  you  can't  ask  Harriet,  now?" 
Ellen  said,  with  quick  concern  and  disappointment. 

"Well,  can  I?" 

"No,  I  suppose  not!"  she  conceded,  unwillingly. 
"She  would  have  to  know!"  For  a  moment  she  pon 
dered,  with  a  thoughtful  face,  then  suddenly  she 
brightened.  "Joe!"  she  said,  "why  don't  you  go  and 
tell  George  the  whole  story?  He's  so  broadminded — 
and  he  loves  you  both — loves  us  all!  If  he  wanted  to 
take  Harriet  abroad  again,  to  have  some  time  elapse, 
at  least  he'd  understand  why  you  couldn't  ask  her 
now." 

"I — I  thought  of  that!"  Joe  said,  somewhat  sharing 
her  confidence. 

"Perhaps  he'd  think  it  best  never  to  tell  Harriet 
at  all,"  Ellen  mused,  half-aloud.  "There  must  be 
thousands  of  men  who  never  tell  their  wives  something 
like  that." 

"Wouldn't  you  mind  that?"  Joe  asked,  giving  her  a 
shrewd  glance. 

"I?  Oh,  I  don't  know.  But,  Joe,"  his  sister  pro 
tested  quickly.  "It's  all  wrong,  anyway.  Whatever 
we  decide,  someone's  going  to  be  unhappy!"  And  she 
fell  to  thinking,  her  mind  still  shocked  and  confused, 
her  breath  coming  fast.  She  felt  the  utter  tensity  of 
the  situation;  it  might  mean  Joe's  misery  or  happiness 
for  life. 

"Joe,  dear,  I'm  sorry!"  she  said  suddenly,  coming  to 
his  side  to  lay  her  arm  about  his  shoulder.  "I  think  I'm 
sorrier  than  I  ever  was  before  in  my  life.  I  wish  it 
might  never  have  been,  Joe!  I'm  sorry  for  this  other 
girl,  too;  but  there's  no  way  of  saving  her,  anyway, 
It's  the  one  thing  women  can't  do,  and  no  matter  how 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  159 

hard  you  try  to  patch  it  up,  women  have  got  to 
pay  the  full  price.  If  she  grew  up  in  the  village,  she 
must  have  known  what  she  was  throwing  away. 
Dearest  boy,  I  hope  I'm  advising  you  rightly.  But 
I  think  you  must  do  what's  best  for  Harriet,  now.  She 
loves  you,  and  you  and  George  must  decide  how  much 
she  shall  know.  I  think  he'll  forgive  you.  Men — - 
men  feel  differently  from  women  about  that!" 

"Just  telling  you  has  made  me  feel  happier  than  I 
have  for  weeks,  Ellen!"  he  said  with  a  long  boyish 
breath  of  relief.  She  kissed  him,  in  her  grave,  motherly 
fashion,  on  the  forehead,  and  sighed  deeply,  with 
her  arms  still  locked  about  his  neck. 

"Will  you  look  at  the  lovers  ?  "Lillian's good-humoured 
voice  said,  from  the  doorway.  She  and  Gibbs  were 
standing  there,  Gibbs  with  impatient  and  disapproving 
eyes.  But  Ellen  was  too  full  of  the  thought  of  Joe's 
tragedy  to  notice  him. 

"I've  been  hearing  Joe's  confession!"  she  said,  ner 
vously  smiling. 

"And  I  feel  as  lighthearted  as  What's-her-name walk 
ing  home  beneath  the  murmuring  pines  and  the  hem 
locks!"  Joe  said. 

Ellen  knew  that  his  tone  was  happier  than  his  mood. 
Yet  confession  had  relieved  him  of  the  burden.  She 
bore  it  now;  it  was  a  weight  against  her  heart  for  many 
days. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  first  heavy  rainstorm  of  the  season  came  early 
in  November,  upon  a  certain  Wednesday  afternoon. 
Indian  summer  was  all  over  now,  autumn  was  gone 
with  its  blaze  of  leaves.  Branches  about  the  "Villino 
dell'  Orto"  were  bare,  and  the  earth  under  them  was 
packed  with  the  sodden  masses  that  had  been  a  glory 
of  red  and  gold  a  few  weeks  before.  In  the  still,  thin 
air,  smoke  from  wood  and  leaf  fires  rose  like  incense 
over  Wheatley  Hills,  the  mornings  were  darker,  and 
now  for  several  days  the  air  had  been  cold,  and  the 
sky  hung  low  and  dark.  Wakening  on  this  particular 
morning,  Ellen,  whose  constant  vigils  were  beginning 
to  tell  upon  her  health,  said  to  herself  wearily  that  it 
would  be  Thanksgiving  in  two  weeks,  and  wondered 
where  the  day  would  find  her.  Aunt  Elsie  had  sug 
gested  that  she  and  Tommy  come  to  Port  Washington 
for  the  noonday  dinner,  going  back  to  Wheatley  Hills 
for  the  more  formal  event  of  the  evening.  Gibbs,  when 
she  mentioned  it  this  morning,  approved  the  idea,  say 
ing  that  he  wanted  her  to  do  what  pleased  her  best, 
and  he  knew  that  she  would  really  prefer  the  home  day 
to  the  long,  five-hour  strain  of  "Parsifal,"  to  which 
he  and  his  father  and  Lillian  meant  to  go,  at  the 
Metropolitan.  Ellen's  face  darkened  visibly. 

"But  if  you  prefer  the  opera,  why  come  with  us!" 
Gibbs  hastened  to  say,  politely. 

His  wife  did  not  answer.     She  did  not  believe  that  his 

160 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  161 

father,  who  was  not  very  well,  would  go  to  the  opera. 
He  had  expressed  a  positive  dislike  for  German  opera. 
But  Gibbs  would  buy  a  third  seat,  and  on  Thanks 
giving  morning  there  would  be  the  usual  hideous  pre 
tence  of  his  and  Lillian's  regret,  their  offer  to  give  the 
whole  thing  up,  their  departure  together  in  the  car — 

But  there  was  nothing  to  say.  She  was  dressed  now, 
and  Tommy  had  come  leaping  into  the  room,  spilling 
a  box  of  tacks  as  he  came,  and  shouting  gaily  that  Lizzie 
said  it — felt — like — snow! 

"If  you're  going  to  that  dinner  to-night,  Gibbs,  do 
you  want  me  to  pack  anything?" 

"Oh,  no,  thanks!  I've  everything  at  the  studio. 
I  think  I'll  come  back  late,  I'll  go  in  the  roadster.  I 
hate  to  keep  Torrens  in  town  loafing  about  waiting  for 
me,  even  if  Dad  and  Lillian  don't  want  the  big  car!" 

"Lillian's  going  to  that  dinner  at  the  Plaza — Mrs. 
Wallace.  Your  father  begged  off,  but  she  says  she  has 
to  go,"  Ellen  reminded  him. 

"Oh,  so  she  is !  And  she  stays  overnight,  doesn't  she ? 
Well,  if  Dad  doesn't  need  the  car,  I  may  keep  Torrens 
in  then,  and  drive  out  after  the  dinner.  I  could  just 
as  well  stay  at  the  studio:  I  have  to  be  in  town  to 
morrow — but  we'll  see.  Don't  worry  if  I'm  not  here. 
Come  on,  Tom,  we're  all  ready!" 

Ellen  followed  them  downstairs,  her  heart  dark  with 
suspicions  well  in  keeping  with  the  foreboding  sky  and 
the  cold,  dull  air.  When  the  plans  for  the  day  were 
discussed  at  the  breakfast  table,  she  listened,  her  tragic 
gaze  moving  from  her  husband's  face  to  Lillian's  serene 
face. 

"I  wish  I  could  go  into  town  when  you  do,  Gibbs," 
Lillian  said  indifferently,  giving  Tommy  the  cherry 


162  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

from  her  grapefruit,  "but  I'm  not  going  until  late,  and 
Im  furious  at  having  to  go  in  at  all.  I  hate  the  Wallaces, 
I'm  worried  about  your  father's  cold,  and  altogether 
my  dolly  is  stuffed  with  sawdust!" 

"I  suppose  we  could  be  rude  to  them  again?"  the 
old  man  said  doubtfully. 

"I  suppose  we  couldn't!"  she  answered,  smiling. 
"No,  and  I  wouldn't  have  you  go  in  with  that  cold, 
either!  I'll  go  in  about  five,  and  stay  at  the  Plaza,  and 
have  a  really  nice  time,  so  don't  give  it  another  thought! 
You  have  to  go  this  morning,  Gibbs?" 

"Now!"  he  answered,  rising.  "I'm  painting  a  lovely 
society  lady,  weight  three  hundred,  and  a  moustache!" 

Tommy  laughed  gaily,  danced  with  his  father  to  the 
door,  and  watched  until  the  roadster  disappeared  down 
the  drive. 

The  day  wore  on.  At  eleven  o'clock  Lillian,  whose 
woman  was  shampooing  her  hair,  wandered,  with  all  its 
glory  spread  loose  over  her  shoulders,  to  Ellen's  door. 

"Snow,  Ellen!" 

Ellen  had  been  writing,  but  had  stopped,  and  was 
staring  blindly  ahead  of  her  through  tear-filmed  eyes. 
She  was  glad  she  did  not  have  to  face  Lillian  as  she 
looked  out  of  the  window. 

"So  it  is!"  she  managed  to  say  huskily. 

Lillian  wandered  on,  stood  in  the  bathroom  door, 
where  Lizzie  was  working  mittens  and  warm  woollen 
wraps  upon  the  excited  Tommy.  When  she  turned 
back  into  Ellen's  room  the  younger  woman  had  en 
tirely  recovered  her  self-control. 

While  they  lunched,  snowflakes  fluttered  softly  down 
from  a  leaden  sky.  A  wind  began  to  whistle  about 
the  corners  of  the  house.  Outside  there  was  great 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  163 

emptiness,  an  appalling  silence.  Ellen  forced  herself 
to  settle  down  with  her  father-in-law  in  the  study 
after  lunch;  the  old  man  seemed  supremely  happy  as 
she  opened  "Jean  Christophe."  He  was  established 
in  his  great  chair  by  the  fire,  with  a  plaid  over  his 
knees,  and  interrupted  the  reading  now  and  then  to 
congratulate  himself  upon  having  escaped  the  necessity 
of  going  out  that  night.  But  Lillian  seemed  as  restless 
and  nervous  as  Ellen  did. 

At  four  o'clock  she  came  in  to  say  good-bye,  exquis 
ite  in  her  furs,  and  Ellen  suddenly  decided  to  try  to 
walk  herself  into  a  better  frame  of  mind.  She  saw 
Torre^  walking  about  the  big  car,  as  she  went  down  the 
drive,  and  presently  it  passed  her,  and  she  waved  to 
Lillian  in  farewell. 

It  was  bitterly  cold,  and  a  strong  wind  was  blowing. 
The  snow  fell  fitfully:  the  storm  was  coming,  but  it 
was  not  yet  fairly  under  way.  Ellen,  usually  normal 
and  sensible  enough,  felt  a  sense  of  impending  horror 
close  upon  her.  She  did  not  want  to  go  back  to  that 
dreadful  house,  where  selfishness,  and  deceit,  and  cruelty 
flourished. 

But  she  did  go  back,  and  sent  her  wet  shoes  down 
stairs  by  Keno,  and  slowly  got  herself  into  something 
warm.  She  went  to  the  study,  where  just  before  dinner 
Josselyn,  Senior,  joined  her.  Ellen  was  almost  frantic 
now  with  undefined  nervousness,  her  hands  were  icy  cold, 
her  face  burned,  and  when  one  of  the  maids  dropped 
a  spoon  at  dinner  she  gave  a  sharp  little  cry.  She 
and  her  father-in-law  were  alone  at  the  stately  meal. 

"Here  comes  the  storm!"  he  said  pleasantly,  as  a 
wild  assault  of  wind  drove  violently  against  the  win 
dows. 


164  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"Oh,  I  wish  Gibbs  were  here!"  ;Ellen  exclaimed, 
with  suddenly  watering  eyes.  "Here — or  that  I  were 
anywhere  in  the  world,  with  him!"  her  heart  added. 
She  had  never  been  frightened  when  they  were  to 
gether,  storms  that  had  rocked  the  old  studio  in  Paris 
had  only  seemed  to  emphasize  their  delicious  safety 
and  warmth  beside  its  fire.  And  there  had  been 
a  day  when  he  and  she  were  caught  in  a  storm,  in 
Brittany,  and  had  been  drenched  and  blown,  and 
overtaken  by  the  darkness;  how  she  had  laughed  as  he 
fumbled  with  big,  protecting  hands  at  the  collar  of  her 
loose  cape,  and  kissed  her  wet  and  rosy  face! 

And  to-night  where  was  he,  while  she  went  silent 
and  heavy-hearted  about  this  house  of  shadows  and 
menaces  ?  The  thought  tormented  her  like  a  gnawing 
pain.  Where  was  he?  Who  was  enjoying  the  smile 
she  loved  so  well,  the  accents  of  that  wonderful  voice? 
She  was  not  beautiful,  as  Lillian  was,  she  was  thin 
and  nervous,  and  alien  to  this  atmosphere,  but  she 
was  his  wife,  after  all — she  was  the  same  Ellen  who  had 
talked  with  him  there  at  the  yacht  club,  in  her  pink 
dress,  and  given  him  the  freshness  and  the  glory  of  her 
youth. 

"Oh,  I  could  be  pretty  again!"  she  mused,  beside 
the  study  fire.  "I  could  be  gay  again!  But  not  here 
— not  here!'* 

Her  book  lay  idle  in  her  lap,  and  after  awhile,  glanc 
ing  toward  him,  she  saw  that  her  father-in-law  was 
dreaming,  too. 

"I'm  a  little  worried  about  Lillian!"  he  said,  as  their 
eyes  met.  "I'm  afraid  they  had  a  bad  trip!"  And 
the  finely  groomed  old  hand  was  stretched  for  the 
telephone.  She  heard  him  call  the  Plaza  Hotel,  and  ask 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  165 

for  Mrs.  Bainbridge  Wallace.  Ellen  watched  him  with 
a  sort  of  fascination. 

"  She's  not  with  the  Wallaces,"  he  said,  in  a  puzzled 
tone;  "that's  odd.  They  say  she  telephoned  at  about 
six  o'clock  that  she  could  not  reach  the  city,  and  was 
staying  with  a  friend." 

Ellen's  face  was  deathly  white. 

"They're  together!"  she  whispered.  And  with  a 
gesture  as  primitive  as  it  was  unconscious  she  wound 
her  hands  together,  and  pressed  them  to  her  face. 
"They're  at  the  studio — together!"  she  muttered, 
blindly  beginning  to  pace  the  room.  "Oh,  Gibbs — 
Gibbs !" 

The  old  man  stared  at  her  for  a  moment  in  utter 
bewilderment.  Then  the  slow  blood  of  age  crept 
slowly  into  his  colourless  cheek,  a  hundred  half- 
forgotten  episodes  rallied  to  support  the  new  suspicion. 
His  gallantry,  his  courtesy,  his  untiring  animation  and 
geniality  were  a  deliberately  adopted  philosophy.  He 
had  not  been  Lillian's  husband  for  eight  years  without 
perceiving  the  real  woman  beneath  the  soft  and  lovely 
surface.  He  felt  for  her  at  times  the  angry  contempt 
of  a  genuine  nature  forced  to  treaty  with  what  is  false. 
But  her  arts  had  seemed  to  him  so  patent,  so  pitifully 
childish  and  apparent,  that  he  had  never  dreamed — 

No,  he  had  never  dreamed  of  Gibbs!  And  as  the 
thing  burst  upon  him,  suddenly  confirmed  by  much 
that  he  had  seen  and  heard  without  understanding,  in 
the  last  few  weeks,  he  knew  what  a  fool  he  had  been  not 
to  foresee  exactly  this. 

"You  think  they—  "  he  began,  clearing  his  throat. 
Ellen,  recalled  to  herself  in  the  midst  of  her  frenzy, 
looked  with  quick  concern  upon  his  suddenly  aged  face. 


166  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!"  she  said,  more  quietly.  "1 
don't  know  anything!  But  I — I've  been  thinking 
about  it  all  day!  They  may  be  dining  together,  and 
then  they  will  come  home  late.  It  seemed  to  me 

that  they  were    planning    it "     She    stopped    her 

restless  walk,  and  came  to  the  side  of  his  chair  and 
knelt  down  beside  it  with  the  endearing  penitence 
of  a  passionate  child.  "I  may  be  wrong!"  she 
stammered  eagerly,  "Lillian  may  be  somewhere  else 
— Gibbs  may  be  at  the  club  dinner!  But  they  do 
meet — they  do  write  each  other,"  Ellen  went  on  with 
trembling  lips,  and  a  shaken  voice,  "and  he  has  changed 
to  me,  I  don't  count  with  him  any  more — he's  for 
gotten — he's  forgotten !" 

She  burst  into  bitter  crying,  and  the  old  man  fum 
bled  for  his  handkerchief,  and  pressed  it  against  her 
cheek,  as  she  hid  her  eyes  on  his  shoulder. 

After  a  few  moments  she  freed  herself,  and  went 
back  to  her  own  chair,  where  she  dried  her  eyes,  and 
managed  a  watery  smile,  but  did  not  speak.  She 
felt  shaken  and  exhausted;  yet  the  relief  of  speaking 
at  last  had  seemed  to  lift  a  weight  from  her  soul. 

"I  blame  myself  for  this,  Ellen,"  Josselyn,  Senior, 
said  presently,  in  some  agitation.  He  got  up,  took  his 
pipe  from  the  mantel,  filled  it,  and  laid  it  irresolutely 
aside.  "Well!"  he  said  briskly,  "I  will  think  about 
this,  my  dear,  and  we  will  decide  what  to  do.  We  will 
take  it  in  time.  We  will — take — it — in — time."  And 
now  he  lighted  the  pipe,  his  tone  resolute.  "It's 
nearly  eleven  o'clock,  Ellen,  and  time  for  you  to  go  to 

bed.     To-morrow " 

They  lingered  for  a  moment  over  their  good-nights, 
and  he  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  167 

"One  thing  more,  Ellen.     Will  you  forgive  him?" 
Her  quick  tears  came  again.     Her  voice  thickened. 
"I — I  love  him.     There's  nothing  to  forgive!" 
Her    father-in-law    stared    down    at    her    from    his 
greater  height  as  if  he  saw  something  admirable  in  the 
honest,  earnest  little  face,  and  the  wet  blue  eyes. 

"You  are  a  good  woman,  Ellen,"  he  said.  "Gibbs's 
mother  was  just  such  another!  You  shall  have  him 
back,  my  dear,  and  this  will  all  be  forgotten.  It's  the 
fault  of  the  times,  Ellen — but  no  harm  has  been  done, 
yet.  I'll  think  about  it — I  have  been  talking  of 
going  to  England,  and  Lillian  seems  to  want  to  go. 
She's  like  a  child:  she  forgets.  Only  tell  me  again 
that  you'll  forgive  him,  Ellen,  and  be  happy  again!" 

Ellen  went  up  to  bed  comforted,  and  undressed 
while  she  dreamed  of  a  new  life  for  herself  and  Gibbs. 
They  would  take  the  little  apartment  that  adjoined 
the  studio,  they  would  be  alone  again,  the  old  happy 
atmosphere  would  be  recreated.  He  loved  her,  -under 
all  this  new  madness 

Ellen  saw  herself  in  her  mirror;  her  cheeks  burning, 
her  eyes  starry,  her  loosened  cloud  of  hair  framing  her 
thoughtful  face.  Hope  came  back,  confidence  came 
back,  a  dimple  deepened  in  her  cheek.  It  was  all  her 
foolish  suspicion,  after  all.  Gibbs  had  been  at  the 
dinner,  and  would  come  home  on  the  midnight  train, 
and  turn  the  electric  lights  full  in  her  eyes  while  he 
gave  her  a  yawning  account  of  the  speeches,  and  tore 
off  his  white  tie.  And  Lillian  had  been — she  did  not 
care  where  Lillian  had  been! 

But  when  she  had  jumped  into  bed,  and  midnight 
struck,  and  one  o'clock,  and  two  o'clock,  and  he  did 


168  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

not  come,  the  anger  and  doubt  returned  in  double 
force.  The  storm  was  still  racketing  about  the  house. 
Ellen  felt  cold  under  her  thick  blankets.  She  tossed 
and  turned,  locked  her  arms  under  her  head  and  stared 
into  the  dark,  turned  and  tossed  again. 

Her  father-in-law  had  disposed  of  the  matter  simply 
and  sanely.  But  suppose  she  was  right,  suppose 
Lillian  and  Gibbs  had  really  thrown  all  honour  to  the 
winds,  were  really  together  to-night,  then  what? 
How  could  she — how  could  any  wife,  forgive  that? 
To  have  his  father  take  away  the  danger,  as  she  might 
take  matches  away  from  Tommy,  proved  nothing  for 
him,  and  solved  nothing  for  her. 

And  if  he  and  Lillian  did  not  choose  to  be  separated, 
if  their  passion  had  carried  them  far  beyond  any  plans 
that  she  and  his  father  might  make ? 

The  clock  struck  three;  struck  four.  Ellen  felt  as 
if  she  would  never  sleep  again. 

The  next  morning  she  surprised  Lizzie  and  Tommy 
at  their  early  breakfast;  she  was  going  into  the  city. 
The  world  was  mantled  with  snow,  but  the  sun  had 
just  risen,  and  Louis,  the  lad  who  assisted  Torrens, 
had  the  little  service  car  at  the  door,  and  was  confident 
that  he  could  get  Mrs.  Josselyn  as  far  as  the  station. 

Just  as  Ellen  was  leaving,  her  father-in-law,  also 
cloaked  and  gloved,  came  downstairs.  Their  heavy 
eyes  met. 

"I  don't  know  why  I'm  going,  or  what  I'm  going  to 
do,"  Ellen  said,  "I've  got  to  go  to  the  studio — and  see 
if  they — if  he's  there.  I  didn't  sleep  all  night." 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  he  said  quickly.  "I  saw  Louis 
come  to  the  door,  and  I  thought  you  must  be  going 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  169 

to  town.  I'll  go,  too.  Lillian's  car  may  really  have 
gotten  into  trouble — 

"Or  he  may  have  been  foolish  enough  to  try  to  come 
out  in  the  roadster,"  Ellen  added.  They  went  down 
the  scraped  steps  together;  not  another  word  was 
exchanged  on  the  drive  to  the  train.  It  was  an  early 
train:  commuters  were  stamping  on  the  snow-tracked 
platform.  Ellen  placed  herself  at  a  window,  and 
stared  blindly  out,  making  no  attempt  to  entertain 
her  companion,  who  rattled  his  newspaper  with  a  great 
show  of  interest. 

The  world  glittered  under  the  risen  sun.  Smoke 
rose  straight  from  a  hundred  chimneys  into  the  clear 
air.  Ellen  saw  a  woman  with  a  shawl  tied  over  her 
head,  feeding  chickens;  another  woman  kissed  two 
bundle-like  babies  at  a  gate.  The  little  woman  in 
front  of  her,  in  the  warm  train,  was  consulting  an  in 
significant-looking,  kindly  little  man  about  a  Christmas 
list.  "The  children  will  go  out  of  their  senses  when 
they  see  it!"  Ellen  heard  her  say. 

Then  they  were  in  the  big  station;  in  a  taxi-cab. 
The  streets,  where  languid  gangs  of  men  were  shovelling 
snow,  went  by.  Forty-second:  Fiftieth:  Fifty-ninth. 
They  were  at^the  door. 

"You  have  some  explanation  of  this  early  trip  for 
Gibbs?"  her  father-in-law  asked  suddenly  in  the  lift. 
She  turned  to  him  tortured  eyes. 

"Oh,  yes — toothache,"  she  answered  breathlessly, 
abstractedly. 

A  second  later,  outside  the  studio  door,  she  caught 
his  arm.  They  stood  a  moment  transfixed.  They 
could  hear  Gibbs's  full,  unmistakable  voice.  A  woman's 
laugh — Lillian's  rare  laugh,  sounded  in  answer. 


170  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

Instantly  Ellen's  companion  flung  open  the  door. 

Gibbs  and  Lillian  were  alone  in  the  studio.  Gibbs, 
in  his  painting  apron,  was  busy  with  the  wooden  screws 
and  cogs  that  adjusted  his  big  easel.  Lillian,  bare 
headed  and  wearing  a  splendid  robe  of  Chinese  green, 
was  beside  the  fire;  coffee  and  rolls  were  on  the  little 
table  before  her;  she  was  enjoying  her  breakfast. 


CHAPTER  X 

ON  A  cold  clear  morning  more  than  a  week  later 
Ellen  Josselyn  came  through  the  garden  of  the  "Villino 
dell'  Orto"  with  a  few  late,  short-stemmed  roses  in  her 
hands.  Her  face  was  rosy  from  a  long  tramp  in  the 
bracing,  icy  air,  and  her  eyes,  if  serious,  wore  a  con 
tented  expression  that  was  new. 

Ellen  had  passed  through  several  phases  of  violent 
emotion  in  the  past  ten  days,  like  everyone  else  in  the 
house  she  had  been  undergoing  tremendous  mental 
adjustments.  But  more  sensible  or  more  adaptable 
than  the  others,  she  had  disciplined  herself  to  accept 
the  new  order  of  things.  Ellen  had  the  advantage  of 
some  preparation,  whereas  the  events  of  the  memorable 
Wednesday  had  fallen  upon  the  others  like  a  thunder 
bolt.  She  had  suspected,  doubted,  and  dreaded,  for 
many  heartsick  days  and  weeks  before  the  crisis  came, 
and  now,  while  they  all  suffered  in  their  separate  ways 
from  the  shock,  Ellen  even  experienced  a  desperate 
satisfaction.  It  was  over:  Gibbs  loved  her  no  longer, 
and  he  knew  that  she  knew  it. 

For  a  few  days  the  repetition  of  this  fact  gave  her  an 
empty,  vague  feeling,  and  a  sensation  of  fatigue.  She 
was  always  tired,  and  her  head  felt  always  confused. 
Gibbs  loved  her  no  longer. 

Well,  what  next,  then?  She  had  faced  terrible  things 
before.  The  old  leather  harness,  for  instance,  and  the 
feverish  days  of  pain  in  the  old  dining  room,  by  the 

171 


172  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

air-tight  stove.  And  later  winter  days,  in  Paris  now, 
when  she  had  roused  in  the  night  to  listen  for  the  baby's 
uneven  breathing  and  had  wakened  to  remember  that 
the  crib  was  gone,  that  Rose  was  gone — Rose  was 
gone! 

And  now  she  must  keep  sane,  and  face  these  new, 
strange  things.  Gibbs,  her  own  husband,  loved  an 
other  woman  more  than  his  wife,  and  Joe,  the  little 
brother  whose  simple,  sturdy  integrity  had  seemed 
to  her  to  shine  in  so  brilliant  a  contrast  to  this  life  of 
hypocrisies  and  affectations,  Joe  had  caused  misery 
and  harm,  and  must  take  a  tarnished  record  into  his 
new  life  as  a  husband. 

Brooding  on  these  things  day  and  night,  yet  Ellen 
forced  herself  to  a  certain  desperate  courage.  She 
dressed  herself  in  her  usual  scrupulous,  quaint  way, 
she  made  herself  walk  and  read,  and  enter  into  Tommy's 
life.  She  met  Gibbs's  stern  and  moody  unresponsive- 
ness  with  tranquil  gravity,  with  his  father  alone  she  was 
more  like  her  old  sunshiny  self.  Lillian  and  Ellen 
barely  spoke  to  each  other,  except  for  the  unavoidable 
civilities  whose  omission  would  have  caused  talk  among 
the  servants. 

Josselyn,  Senior,  had  somewhat  withdrawn  into  him 
self  since  the  trip  to  the  studio,  and  had  asked  his  wife 
to  cancel  all  engagements  for  a  week  or  two.  Lillian 
amiably  obeyed,  and  after  that  the  silence  and  chill 
of  hidden  anger  and  suppressed'  fear  fell  upon  the 
"Villino  dell'  Orto."  Once  George  Lathrop  came  to 
dinner,  and  for  a  few  hours  the  shadow  lifted,  and  now 
and  then  Joe  came  in,  perceiving  that  something  was 
v/rong,  but  assuming,  as  they  were  all  assuming, 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  173 

that  everything  was  normal  and  pleasant  between  the 
Josselyns.     Otherwise  they  were  alone. 

Lillian  was  bewildered  and  made  a  little  uneasy  by 
the  suddenness  with  which  this  change  in  atmosphere 
had  come  about,  because,  as  she  told  herself  a  dozen 
times  a  day,  nothing  had  happened,  after  all.  When 
Tom  and  Ellen  had  so  abruptly  entered  the  studio, 
on  that  eventful  Wednesday  morning,  she  had  been 
ready  with  her  laughing  explanation  of  her  presence 
there,  and  she  had  seen  that  they  accepted  it.  Lillian( 
was  not  the  woman  to  be  caught  unprepared  in  such  a 
.•situation. 

The  smiling  greeting  with  which  she  had  risen  to 
meet  them:  "Ah,  now — you've  spoiled  it  all!"  was 
daunting  in  its  bright  sincerity.  She  had  had  a  kiss  for 
her  husband,  she  had  had  an  arm  about  Ellen  as  she 
elucidated:  "Tom,  darling,  we've  been  scheming  and 
scheming  for  a  chance  to  get  my  picture  painted  for 
your  birthday — what  bad  luck  brought  you  in  to-day?" 

And  Gibbs  had  promptly  and  concernedly  followed 
her  lead. 

"And  how'd  you  get  in,  Dad?  The  car  broke  down 
with  Lillian  yesterday  on  the  Great  Neck  hill — Torrens 
got  it  as  far  as  the  service  station — did  he  telephone 
you?" 

"And  I  had  to  telephone  the  Wallaces,"  Lillian  added, 
wide-eyed,  "and  Tom,  I  simply  invited  myself  to  stay 
with  old  Mrs.  Pepper  at  Great  Neck  all  night.  I 
didn't  telephone  you  because  I  had  this  date  for  an 
early  sitting  with  Gibbs." 

"Take  a  look  at  it!"  Gibbs  said,  at  the  easel.  "Aw 
fully  rough  now,  of  course!  It's  just  laid  in."  The 
old  man,  studying  the  canvas,  nodded. 


174  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"Still,  you've  caught  it!"  he  said.  "Car  broke 
down,  eh?" 

"No,  it  was  the  skidding,"  Lillian,  at  her  husband's 
side,  also  looking  at  the  portrait,  explained.  "The 
road  was  simply  lined  with  cars,  Tom.  It  was  snowing 
hard,  you  know,  and  I  got  terribly  nervous.  Finally 
Torrens  gave  it  up,  too.  He's  been  talking  about  the 
brake,  you  know,  and  he  was  as  nervous  as  I." 

She  was  smiling,  eager,  garrulous  for  Lillian. 

"So  I  thought  this  was  my  chance  to  pay  a  little 
attention  to  Mrs.  Pepper.  We  were  going  to  have  her 
over  at  the  house,  Tom,  you  know,  and  we  never  did ! 
And  Lindsay  was  there,  I  thought  he  had  gone  to 
Washington,  but  he  was  there,  and  he  had  to  make  an 
early  start  for  town  this  morning,  so  it  all  fitted  in!" 

Thus  Lillian,  readily  and  innocently.  Gibbs,  ap 
parently  indifferent  to  the  conversation,  was  squinting 
at  his  canvas,  rubbing  the  wet  paint  with  a  tentative 
finger.  The  old  man  stood  staring  at  the  picture,  too, 
with  unseeing  eyes.  He  was  heartsick  at  finding  him 
self,  his  years  and  his  dignity,  forced  into  this  hideous 
role.  He  knew  now  that  he  was  being  deceived,  if  not 
in  actual  fact,  in  the  underlying  motive  so  much  more 
important  than  the  fact.  He  knew  what  simplicity 
and  ingenuousness  from  Lillian  meant.  And  standing 
there  in  the  pleasant  winter  brightness  of  the  studio, 
with  the  fire  snapping  gaily  behind  him,  and  his  wife's 
soft  hand  on  his  arm,  his  heart  burned  with  anger  and 
shame. 

Ellen  had  not  spoken  at  all.  She  stood  like  a  woman 
of  wood  beside  the  fire.  Marie,  the  shrivelled  little 
janitor's  wife,  hobbling  in,  piped  a  query  as  to  whether 
"Madame  Geebs"  would  have  some  coffee,  too.  Ellen 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  175 

gave  her  merely  a  dumb  shake  of  the  head  for  negative. 
She  was  afraid  she  was  going  to  faint.  She  felt  broken, 
dazed,  struck  to  the  heart.  It  was  all  a  bad  dream, 
Lillian  so  pleasantly  talkative,  Gibbs  scowling  at  his 
work,  her  father-in-law  gallantly  struggling  to  regain  his 
composure  after  the  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  and 
herself  silent,  sick,  helpless.  Fool  that  she  had  been 
to  think  that  she  could  convict  them!  What  was  she 
to  gain,  even  supposing  the  worst  to  be  true,  and  herself 
successful  in  forcing  them  to  confess  it!  Had  the 
painter,  with  his  clever,  bronzed  face  and  his  mop  of 
silver  hair,  ever  been  anything  to  her  except  a  cruel 
and  alien  figure?  Had  she  ever  rested  her  black  head 
against  that  loosely  hanging  linen  smock,  and  felt  the 
delicious  strength  of  that  big  arm  about  her? 

He  was  angry  now,  she  said  to  herself,  but  it  did  not 
seem  important.  It  was  too  late  for  anger  of  his  to 
concern  her. 

Like  a  scene  in  a  play,  Torrens  arrived.  He  came 
upstairs  to  say  he  had  just  brought  the  car  from  Great 
Neck.  He  was  full  of  the  accident,  concerned  to  know 
how  Gibbs  had  managed  the  small  car. 

"  Roads  is  filled  with  cars,  Mr.  Josselyn.  You  didn't 
attempt  to  get  out  to  Wheatley  Hills  last  night?  I 
never  seen  the  roads  so  bad " 

"Mr.  Pepper  managed  to  get  through  this  morning," 
Lillian  said.  Her  husband  turned  to  the  chauffeur  with 
directions.  Gibbs  somewhat  awkwardly  sauntered 
over  to  stand  beside  his  wife.  In  all  her  own  distress 
she  felt  a  pang  of  pity  that  Gibbs  should  be  ashamed 
and  embarrassed. 

"It  must  have  been  a  heavy  snow,  down  there,"  he 
offered. 


176  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

She  raised  heavy  eyes.     Her  voice  was  lifeless. 

"It  was  a  stormy  night.  And — and  I  had  a  tooth 
ache." 

Lillian,  joining  them,  was  all  sympathy.  It  was 
arranged  that  Ellen  should  go  at  once  to  her  dentist, 
and  Josselyn,  Senior,  might  finish  his  paper  by  the  studio 
fire  while  the  second  sitting  went  on. 

"And  you  must  be  tremendously  surprised  when  you 
get  the  picture,  on  your  birthday!"  Lillian  said  play 
fully. 

Thus  began  the  farce  they  were  still  playing.  They 
had  all  come  home  together  in  the  car,  after  a  lunch  at 
Sherry's  where  more  than  one  envious  outsider  noticed 
the  four  handsome  Josselyns  laughing  and  chatting 
together.  Gibbs  had  been  full  of  concern  for  his  wife, 
and  had  seen  that  she  was  comfortably  tucked  into 
bed  when  she  got  home.  He  had  gotten  her  books, 
magazines,  he  had  brought  Tommy  in  for  good-nights, 
and  talked  cheerfully  to  his  wife,  while  he  undressed 
the  child  by  the  fire.  And  Ellen,  watching  him,  had 
been  afraid  that  she  would  suddenly  scream  out,  and 
go  mad. 

She  loved  him  so — she  loved  him  so — her  big,  clever, 
masterful  Gibbs!  She  had  loved  him  since  the  hour 
they  met,  and  she  could  not  unlove  him  now.  She 
longed,  with  unceasing  hunger  gnawing  at  her  heart, 
to  have  him  her  own  again,  to  have  his  laughter,  his 
confidences,  his  moods  all  for  her.  Ellen  was  not 
proud.  She  had  told  him  a  thousand  times,  in  their 
happy  years,  that  her  life  and  her  being  were  bound  up 
in  him;  she  could  not  change  because  he  had  changed. 

Tommy 'sprayers  were  said — Tommy's  good-night  kiss 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  177 

given — and  all  the  while  she  knew — she  knew  that  Gibbs 
was  longing,  longing  to  get  downstairs,  to  meet  Lillian 
for  the  one  minute,  for  just  the  necessary  second,  that 
should  reassure  them  both,  that  should  equip  them  for 
fresh  play-acting. 

And  she  knew  he  was  not  happy,  that  he  never  could 
be  happy  again  in  the  old  way — nor  in  the  new  way, 
either!  As  surely  as  the  day  would  come  when  Lillian 
would  give  herself  to  him;  and  Ellen  said  feverishly  to 
herself  that  it  might  already  have  been — so  surely 
would  the  day  come  when  he  would  read  that  cold  and 
cruel  heart  of  hers  aright,  and  would  shudder  away 
from  it  in  utter  sickness  of  soul. 

There  had  been  a  difference  in  Ellen  since  that  morn 
ing  in  the  studio,  a  calmness  and  a  desperate  resignation. 
And  the  expected  reproaches  from  Gibbs  had  never 
come,  rather  he  had  seemed  to  try  to  soothe  and  reassure 
her.  Such  an  attitude  a  month  ago  might  have  saved 
them  all,  but  Ellen  was  past  that  now.  She  baffled 
and  shocked  him  by  the  depth  of  her  despair. 

To  his  father,  too,  the  whole  world  was  changed. 
Josselyn,  Senior,  had  aged  ten  years  in  this  week.  His 
pride  was  pierced  in  a  vital  spot.  He  had  liked  his 
position  as  elder  in  this  houseful  of  brilliant  young  per 
sons;  he  had  admired  Gibbs,  Lillian,  and  Ellen,  in  their 
separate  spheres,  and  had  liked  nothing  so  much  as  to 
make  them  happy,  to  be  the  power  that  could  indulge 
and  please  them  untiringly. 

Now  accepting  their  ready  explanations  in  the  same 
spirit  that  Ellen  did,  he  was  awakened  from  the  fool's 
dream.  He  saw  himself  an  old  man,  gulled  and  blinded, 
put  off  with  empty  caresses.  He  saw  himself  bringing 
untold  suffering  upon  Ellen  by  his  sentimental  dream 


178  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

of  having  the  younger  family  beneath  his  rooftree. 
He  saw  her  life  ruined,  his  boy's  life  ruined,  his  own  old 
age  dishonoured.  Of  Lillian  he  thought  little :  for  many 
years  he  had  realized  that  whoever  might  pay  for  his 
second  wife's  delinquencies,  it  would  not  be  his  second 
wife.  There  was  no  punishing  Lillian;  her  heart  was 
like  a  mirror  that  could  give  her  back  only  a  reflection 
of  her  own  charms. 

And  yet,  of  them  all,  during  this  strange  week,  it  was 
Lillian  who  was  really  enduring  the  severest  mental 
discomfort.  For  Lillian,  discomfort  of  any  sort  was 
new,  and  she  tried  a  hundred  times  to  writhe  away  from 
her  apprehensive  thoughts. 

For  although  it  had  been  perfectly  true  that  Lillian 
on  the  night  of  the  storm  had  gone  to  seek  unexpected 
hospitality  from  old  Mrs.  Pepper  at  Great  Neck,  the 
fact  she  had  successfully  concealed  from  her  husband 
was  that  Mrs.  Pepper  at  this  time  had  been  making  a 
long  visit  to  her  daughter  in  Montreal.  Lindsay 
Pepper,  keeping  bachelor  quarters  with  his  Japanese 
boy,  had  welcomed  her,  and  Lillian,  resting  and  warm 
ing  herself  by  his  fire,  after  her  adventures,  had  assured 
him  gaily  that  he  must  find  her  a  chaperone  before 
dinner-time,  or  somehow,  anyhow,  she  must  get  back 
to  Tom,  and  the  "  Villino  dell'  Orto." 

While  Ellen,  restless  and  suffering,  had  been  wander^ 
ing  about  the  house  at  Wheatley  Hills,  and  while 
Gibbs,  thinking  perhaps  of  Lillian's  coming  in  the 
morning,  had  been  dressing  for  his  dull  dinner  at  the 
club,  Lillian  had  been  experiencing  her  own  uneasiness, 
too.  Lindsay's  devotion  to  her  she  had  never  ques 
tioned;  it  was  one  of  the  elements  in  her  life  with  which 
her  fancy  liked  to  play,  but  she  realized  now  that 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  179 

she  had  never  truly  estimated  its  depth  and  its 
power. 

The  storm  was  gathering  in  fury,  and  the  friends 
to  whom  Lindsay  was  duly  telephoning,  one  after 
another,  regarded  his  gay  suggestion  of  "getting  to 
gether  for  a  party"  as  something  little  less  than  mad. 
Finally,  he  had  to  face  her  ruefully  with  the  simple 
summary:  "Nothing  doing!" 

There  was  left  them  the  alternative  of  struggling  out 
into  the  storm,  fighting  their  way  for  more  than  a 
bitter  mile  to  the  station,  getting  into  the  city  by  eight 
o'clock,  when  Lillian,  wet  and  blown,  might  still  join 
the  party  at  the  Plaza,  leaving  Lindsay  to  dine  and 
amuse  himself  otherwise  as  his  fancy  dictated.  And 
had  Lillian  foreseen  the  events  of  the  following  morning, 
she  would  certainly  have  adopted  this  course  at  any 
sacrifice. 

But  his  house  was  delightfully  warm,  and  Kioto's 
dinner  was  already  dispensing  a  delicious  odour.  No 
one  need  ever  know  that  his  mother  had  not  chaper 
oned  this  affair,  the  Japanese  was  discretion's  self,  and 
Lillian  was  no  girl  to  be  fluttered  by  a  touch  of  the 
unexpected.  More,  she  began  to  enjoy  the  almost 
forgotten  emotion  of  terrified  pleasure,  the  situation 
was  full  of  theatrical  beauty,  and  she  herself  was  the 
leading  woman.  She  borrowed  a  richly  embroidered 
mandarin  coat  which  Pepper  sometimes  wore  about 
the  house,  and  came  downstairs  a  vision  of  marvellous 
beauty.  It  was  not  only  pleasantly  exciting;  it  was 
the  easiest  thing  to  do.  And  Lillian,  above  all  things, 
loved  ease. 

And  then  had  come  the  early  trip  into  town,  for 
Lindsay  was  leaving  for  Montreal,  to  bring  his  mother 


180  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

home,  and  Lillian  had  to  keep  her  engagement  with 
Gibbs.  Lindsay  was  all  devotion;  this  attitude,  in  fact, 
was  the  one  element  in  the  matter  of  which  Lillian  had 
taken  no  account.  He  alarmed  her  with  the  vehe 
mence  of  his  affection,  and  made  her  nervous  and  un 
certain.  She  had  supposed  that  he  would  leave  her 
at  the  studio  door,  but  instead  he  came  upstairs,  and 
the  two  men  talked  together  a  few  minutes. 

During  this  time  Lillian  experienced  exquisite  uneasi 
ness.  Gibbs  showed  a  disconcerting  familiarity  with 
old  Mrs.  Pepper's  movements.  When  had  she  gotten 
back?  How  did  she  find  Montreal? 

"I  didn't  know  you  knew  old  Mrs.  Pepper  so  well?" 
Lillian  said,  when  Lindsay  was  gone. 

"Oh,  I  see  her  sometimes,  watching  the  tennis,"  he 
answered  carelessly.  "Now  take  your  wraps  off,  and 
I'll  have  Marie  bring  you  in  some  coffee!"  Her  big 
fur  coat  in  his  arms,  he  caught  up  her  bare  hand. 
"No  ring?"  he  smiled. 

For  he  was  painting  her  in  a  dull  green  robe,  and  the 
big  jade  ring  she  frequently  wore  was  an  excellent  bit  of 
colour  in  the  picture. 

If  she  had  had  the  quickness  to  say  that  she  had  left 
it  at  home!  But  Lillian  was  not  quick  at  best,  and  just 
now  she  was  tired  and  confused.  She  had  left  it  on 
the  washstand  in  the  bathroom  next  to  Mrs.  Pepper's 
room;  she  remembered  its  exact  position,  and  she  said 
that  she  would  write  Mrs.  Pepper  at  once,  and  ask  her 
to  return  it. 

"Well,  run  along,  and  get  into  your  rig!"  Gibbs 
said  unsuspiciously.  But  when  she  had  disappeared 
into  the  little  model's  room,  and  when  Marie  had 
brought  in  the  coffee,  and  when  he  had  loitered  about 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  181 

waiting  idly,  and  still  she  did  not  come,  he  picked  up 
the  telephone  book.  As  well  to  settle  the  matter 
quickly:  the  delay  of  a  few  hours  might  mean  that  the 
ring  was  swept  carelessly  away  and  lost. 

And  so  it  was  Gibbs's  turn  to  have  his  castle  of 
dreams  fall  about  him  in  ashes.  When  Lillian  came 
innocently  back  from  the  model-room,  eager  for  the 
exquisite  hour  they  had  both  been  anticipating  for 
days,  he  saw  for  the  first  time  the  woman  she  really  was. 

"Your  ring's  all  right,"  he  said  presently.  "I 
telephoned.  The  Jap — said  he'd  found  it." 

Her  eyes  flew  to  his  face.  She  saw  what  he  knew, 
and  her  colour  faded  a  little. 

"Gibbs,"  she  said  quickly  and  breathlessly.  "You 
know  how  it  happened — I  wanted  to  tell  you  all 
about  it,  anyway.  But  Lindsay  asked  me  not  to. 
You  see,  it  was  storming  horribly " 

Beautiful,  eager,  in  her  green  robe,  she  poured  out 
the  story  as  she  had  arranged  and  adapted  it  in  the 
night.  And  slowly  mixing  the  colours  on  his  palette, 
not  meeting  her  eyes,  Gibbs  listened.  There  was  a 
certain  shade  of  yellow-brown  that  would  always 
speak  to  him  of  this  hideous  moment,  with  its  blare  of 
brassy  truth,  and  its  taste  of  ashes.  When  she  ended, 
with  a  wide-eyed,  innocent  appeal,  he  smiled,  and  still 
with  averted  eyes,  he  nodded.  "  Blame  you  ?  No-o-o, 
I  don't  blame  you,  Lillian!"  he  said  gently,  after  a 
silence. 

"But  smile  at  me,  Gibbs,"  she  said,  with  an  uneasy 
laugh  and  a  rather  uncertain  resumption  of  her  old 
confident  manner.  "Or  I'll  have  to  come  over  there 
and  make  you  smile!" 


182  JOSSELYN'S  WIFF 

Before  he  could  speak  again  the  door  was  opened 
by  her  husband. 

She  knew  that  in  the  moment  he  had  realized  her 
deception  about  Lindsay  Pepper  she  had  come  close  to 
losing  Gibbs.  She  felt  a  contempt  for  the  weakness  in 
herself  that  had  permitted  her  to  risk  the  love  of  the 
man  she  really  desired  for  the  old  admirer  who  had 
lost,  by  contrast  with  the  new,  any  power  to  stir  her. 
But  Lillian  could  not  think  that  Gibbs  would  not 
return  to  her.  He  was  hurt,  he  was  sore  and  angry 
now,  but  she  had  still,  as  a  weapon,  their  dangerous  pro 
pinquity  and  she  had  still  the  disturbing  and  aDoealing 
beauty  he  had  found  irresistible. 

So  Lillian  played  her  game  safely,  and  bided  her 
time.  This  storm  would  blow  over,  as  other  storms 
had.  She  would  need  only  a  little  patience,  she  would 
need  caution.  Patience  and  watchfulness  were  among 
Lillian's  virtues. 

But  Gibbs  knew  that  it  was  all  over.  He  had  made 
a  fool  of  himself,  for  her,  he  had  told  himself  that  it  was 
only  a  pretty  and  exciting  game.  He  had  lived  in  the 
light  of  those  dark  and  magnificent  eyes,  he  had 
thrilled  to  the  touch  of  her  smooth,  warm  hand. 

That  he  had  never  actually  been  false  to  Ellen  was 
of  small  comfort  to  him  now.  The  house  of  cards  had 
fallen  about  him  through  no  heroic  measure  of  his 
own.  He  had  placed  himself  in  an  undignified,  in  a 
ridiculous  position,  he  had  let  her  deceive  him  with 
the  rest. 

And  with  the  revelation  that  she  had,  from  sheer 
good-natured  laziness,  placed  herself  under  Lindsay 
Pepper's  roof  for  the  night,  and  with  the  bitter  thought 
that  Lindsay's  coarse  devotion  meant  quite  as  much 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  183 

to  her  insatiable  appetite  for  admiration  as  did  his 
own  exquisitely  expressed  friendship,  Gibbs's  wakening 
had  come. 

He  could  not  bear  to  look  at  her  now,  to  speak  to 
her.  He  fell  into  a  mood  of  angry  silence;  his  father's 
attitude  of  watchfulness,  Ellen's  voiceless  question  and 
reproach,  and  Lillian's  tireless  efforts  to  reestablish 
the  old  order  of  things,  alike  infuriated  him. 


CHAPTER  XI 

As  ELLEN  came  in  with  her  roses,  the  big  clock  in  the 
hall  began  to  chime  in  a  leisurely  manner,  and,  glancing 
at  it,  she  saw  that  it  was  twelve  o'clock.  Long  after 
ward  Ellen  Josselyn  thought  of  that  moment,  and  of 
the  events  that  would  stamp  themselves  on  her  heart 
and  brain  before  the  clock  chimed  for  another  noon 
day.  But  at  the  time  she  only  reflected  that  luncheon 
was  in  half  an  hour,  and  she  was  muddy  and  dis 
hevelled:  she  would  put  the  roses  in  the  study,  and 
fly  upstairs  to  brush  and  change.  Very  often  she  car 
ried  flowers  into  the  study:  the  maids  were  not  allowed 
to  enter  the  room,  and  the  old  man  liked  to  find  traces 
of  his  daughter-in-law's  affection  waiting  there. 

More  than  that,  Ellen  thought,  Tommy  was  fre 
quently  to  be  found  there  at  this  hour,  setting  up  his 
grandfather's  chessmen,  wasting  large  sheets  of  paper 
with  his  ruler  and  pencils,  operating  the  little  ivory 
stork  that  lighted  cigarettes,  burning  incense  in  the 
tiny  Cantonese  out  of  whose  open  mouth  thick  fumes 
presently  poured,  and  in  general  enjoying  himself 
almost  as  much  as  did  the  grandfather  who  superin 
tended  these  operations.  A  picture  of  them  together 
was  in  Ellen's  mind  as  she  opened  the  door,  and  she 
half-smiled  in  anticipation. 

But  only  Lizzie  was  in  the  study.  She  was  standing, 
pale  and  staring,  by  the  table,  facing  the  door.  She 
gave  a  little  cry,  helpless  and  forlorn,  as  Ellen  came  in. 

184 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  185 

Ellen's  eyes  flashed  to  her  limp  fingers,  which  lay  about 
the  beautiful  shining  body  of  a  revolver  on  the  table. 

Before  the  little  cry,  half-protest  and  half-whine,  had 
died  away,  Ellen  had  sprung  at  her,  wrenched  the  ter 
rible  thing  free,  and  flung  it  back  into  its  place  in  the 
drawer,  pushed  her  own  body  against  the  drawer  to 
close  it,  and  caught  Lizzie  by  the  shoulders,  forcing 
the  girl  to  face  her.  While  they  stood  there,  panting, 
the  shadow  of  death  lifted  itself  slowly  from  the  room. 
The  fire  crackled,  the  sunlight,  pouring  through  green 
bottle-ends,  fell  peacefully  upon  the  soft  tones  of  rugs 
and  leather  chairs. 

"Lizzie — my  child!"  Ellen  said,  in  a  sharp  whis 
per.  "What  were  you  doing?  What  were  you  going 
to  do?" 

No  need  to  answer.  Lizzie  attempted  none.  She 
hung  her  head:  her  breath  came  on  childish  dry  sobs. 

Ellen's  thoughts  raced.  There  was  only  one  expla 
nation  of  this:  Lizzie  was  "in  trouble."  Ellen  had 
noticed  tear-stains  about  the  pretty  eyes  more  than 
once.  She  remembered  now  that  Lizzie's  mother,  a 
village  woman,  had  come  all  the  way  to  Wheatley 
Hills  one  day,  in  a  plumber's  delivery  van,  to  hold  a 
mysterious  but  violent  conversation  with  the  girl, 
who  had  cried  bitterly.  Afterward,  she  had  explained 
to  Ellen  that  Ma  wanted  her  to  get  married,  and  Ellen 
had  wisely  observed  that  she  was  right  not  to  take 
that  step  until  she  felt  ready  for  it. 

So  that  was  it.  This  gentle,  conscientious  little 
woman  had  been  carrying  that  burden  in  her  heart. 

Ellen  made  the  girl  sit  down  on  the  great  seat  by  the 
fire,  and  sat  down  herself  beside  her.  She  kept  one 
kindly  hand  on  Lizzie's  shoulder,  and  fixed  anxious 


186  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

eyes  upon  the  tear-wet,  sullen  face.  The  older  woman 
still  felt  herself  to  be  frightened  and  shaken,  but  her 
tone  was  as  quiet  as  she  could  make  it. 

"Lizzie — my  dear!  That  was  a  wicked  thing  to  do. 
Can't  you  tell  me  about  it  ?  You  know  Tommy  loves 
you,  and  I  love  you.  Tell  me " 

The  tone  entirely  melted  poor  Lizzie,  whose  breast 
began  to  heave  painfully.  Ellen  thrust  her  handker 
chief  into  the  girl's  hand,  and  Lizzie  sobbed  unrebuked, 
wrenching  her  whole  body  in  her  grief,  and  making 
stifled  sounds  like  a  person  strangling. 

"It's  about  that  man  your  mother  wanted  you  to 
marry?"  Ellen  suggested,  after  awhile,  her  arm  still 
about  Lizzie's  shoulders.  The  girl  nodded  without 
looking  up.  "And  Lizzie,  should  you  marry  him?" 
Ellen  ventured. 

"I  love  him!"  Lizzie  answered,  in  a  choked  and 
angry  voice,  after  a  shamed  pause. 

"You  love  him You  poor  child !  And  he  wants 

to  marry  you  ? " 

"He  says  he  will."  Lizzie  had  writhed  about  so  that 
her  back  was  almost  turned  to  Ellen,  who  had  to  bend 
forward  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  flushed  face  and  in 
flamed  eyes. 

"And  don't  you  think  you  would  be  happier," 
Ellen  pursued  sweetly,  "don't  you  think  you  would  be 
happier,  if  he  loves  you,  and  you " 

"He  don't  love  me,"  Lizzie  interrupted  sullenly. 

"But  you  said " 

"I  said  he'd  marry  me!" 

The  blood  came  to  Ellen's  face,  and  she  sat  back, 
feeling  a  little  sick.  She  had  read  of  the  old  tragedy  a 
thousand  times,  but  how  much  more  poignant  was  this 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  187 

first  encounter  with  it,  this  sickening  realization  of 
what  it  means  to  the  woman  to  sue!  She  had  loved, 
and  she  had  given,  and  now  it  was  his  royal  preroga 
tive  to  lift  her  up,  and  make  her  "honest,"  or  to  drive 
her  to  self-murder.  Ah,  life  was  hard  enough  for  the 
Ellens,  who  keep  a  man's  respect,  but  lose  his  love. 
But  for  the  Lizzies ! 

" Lizzie,"  she  asked  timidly.  "Are  you — youVe 
not ?" 

Lizzie  had  dried  her  swollen  eyes,  and  their  misery 
was  turned  toward  Ellen. 

"No,  ma'am,"  she  answered,  with  returning  self- 
control,  "if  there  was  a  baby  coming,  I'd  marry  him 
to-morrow.  But  he — he's  a  good  man,  Mrs.  Josselyn, 
and  he'd  never  be  anything  but  shamed  and  kept  down 
by  a  girl  like  me.  And  we  done  what  we  done  like 
children  might  do  something  wrong,"  poor  Lizzie  added, 
with  her  eyes  brimming  again,  "and  all  the  time  he  was 
in  love  with  another  lady — I  knew  he  was,  but  he  didn't 
know  himself  how  he  had  come  to  think  about  her — • 
and  so  when  we — when  we  said  we  wouldn't  see  each 
other  no  more,  I  thought  that  it  was  all  over  and 
done  with — except  for  the  way  I  felt.  But — but 
Ma  guessed  it,  and  she  was  awful  mean  to  me,"  the 
girl  said  simply,  "and  nothing  ever  seemed  right  again. 
I  didn't  want  to  go  with  any  of  the  other  boys,  and  I 
kep*  feeling  what  if  I  should  marry  some  day,  and 
have  a  little  girl " 

She  began  to  cry  again  softly.  Ellen,  whose  face 
had  grown  ashen,  sat  staring  at  her  blindly.  Her 
heart  was  pounding:  her  brain  in  a  whirl.  She  had 
heard  those  terms  before — Lizzie  had  been  Aunt  Elsie's 
maid  through  an  illness  last  winter 


188  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"When  was  this,  Lizzie?"  she  asked,  clearing  her 
throat. 

"Last  winter,  Mrs.  Josselyn." 

"Look  at  me,"  Ellen  said,  after  a  pause.  "Look  at 
me,  Lizzie.  Was  it  Joe  ?  Was  it  Mr.  Latimer  ? " 

She  saw  the  answer  in  Lizzie's  eyes  before  the  girl 
said  quickly: 

"No,  ma'am!    Oh,  no,  ma'am!" 

Ellen  could  smile  sadly  as  she  shook  her  head. 

"He  told  me  about  it,  Lizzie.  He  told  me  all  about 
it,  but  he  didn't  say  it  was  you.  I'm  so  sorry.  I'm  so 
desperately  sorry.  You — you  do  love  him  ? " 

"Oh,  my  God,  how  could  I  help  it?"  the  girl  an 
swered,  with  sudden  violence.  "I  had  never  worked 
before,  Mrs.  Josselyn,  and  at  home  it  was  trouble — 
trouble — trouble!  My  father  drinks  and  my  sister's 
husband  drinks — I've  seen  him  hit  her  a  few  days 
before  her  children  come!  And  your  aunt  was  so  good 
to  me,  and  the  Captain  treated  me  like  I  was  his  grand 
daughter,  and  everything  was  so  pleasant  and  warm. 
And  Joe  always  anxious  for  me  to  get  enough  to  eat, 
and  helping  me  with  kindling  and  all,  and  one  night 
tying  up  my  finger  where  I'd  cut  it,  and  sometimes 
he'd  kiss  me,  you  know,  and  tell  me  I  looked  nice! 
And  then  one  night  he  wasn't  coming  home,  and  the 
Captain  wanted  some  tobacco,  and  I  run  up  street  for  it, 
after  supper,  and  when  I  come  back  my  feet  were  all 
sopping,  and  after  I'd  undressed,  I  come  down  in  a 
wrapper,  to  get  warm ' 

Ellen  could  see  the  old  Main  Street  house.  Her  eyes 
were  shining. 

"I've  done  that  a  thousand  times!"  she  said,  half- 
aloud. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  189 

"And  Joe  come  in,"  pursued  Lizzie,  "it  was  after 
nine,  but  he  hadn't  had  his  supper.  And  him  and  me 
went  out  and  got  something  to  eat — 

Her  voice  fell.     Ellen  did  not  speak. 

"He's  going  to  marry  Miss  Lathrop,"  Lizzie  said 
presently.  "But  that  can't  stop  me  loving  him,  and 
remembering  how  he'd  laugh  when  we  was  building  the 
breakfast  fire — and  how  I  felt  about  him!  I  thought 
then  we  might  get  married,  although  I  always  knew  it 
wouldn't  be  right  for  Joe — and  she's  rich,  and  all  that, 
and — and  of  course  he  loves  her " 

She  stopped  speaking,  staring  drearily  ahead  of  her. 
Ellen  was  silent,  too.  But  she  kept  one  warm  friendly 
little  hand  tight  over  Lizzie's  hand,  and  in  her  troubled 
face  there  was  no  hint  of  reproach. 

"You  say  he  loves  her,"  she  said  thoughtfully  after 
awhile,  "I  think  he  does,  too,  in  a  way.  But  he  has 
been  most  unhappy  about  this,  Lizzie;  I've  seen  it, 
only  I  didn't  understand.  He  has  been  worried  and 
uncertain — we've  all  been  wondering  what  was  on 
his  mind.  And  I  didn't  understand.  I  thought  it  was 
some  reckless  girl — I  suppose  it's  always  this  way. 
Only  I  never  thought  of  you,  Lizzie,  so  quiet  and  good 
and  unselfish — no,  don't  begin  to  cry  again.  I  didn't 
mean  that  unkindly.  I  blame  myself — I  blame  my 
self " 

Thus  Ellen,  reaching  for  some  guiding  principle 
through  all  these  mazes. 

"Well!  Someone  will  come  in  and  find  us  here,"  she 
said,  with  sudden  decision.  "Go  upstairs  and  bathe 
your  eyes,  Lizzie,  and  get  Tommy  ready  for  lunch. 
And  don't  worry,  I'm  going  to  think  it  all  out!" 

Comforted,  the  girl  escaped,  and  Ellen  ate  her  lunch 


190  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

in  thoughtful  mood,  and  afterward  walked  with  Tommy 
to  the  station  a  mile  away.  She  said  nothing  to  any  one 
at  the  house,  but  when  they  were  on  the  road,  she  told 
Tommy  that  they  were  going  to  meet  Uncle  Joe. 

"How  'j'know  he  was  comin'?"  Tommy  demanded. 

"I  telephoned  him,  dear."  Ellen  was  excited:  she 
trotted  Tom's  small  legs  along  in  a  spirited  fashion. 
Joe,  descending  from  the  train,  complimented  them 
upon  their  cheeks. 

"Of  course  you  don't  understand,"  Ellen  echoed  his 
greeting  as  she  kissed  him.  "But  I'll  explain,  Joe.  I 
didn't  bring  the  car  because  I  want  to  talk  to  you,  by 
myself.  Trot  ahead  there,  Tom.  It's  about  Lizzie,  Joe." 

His  honest,  kind  eyes  flew  to  hers  consciously. 

"She  told  you?"  " 

"She  was  going  to  kill  herself,  Joe." 

He  walked  along  at  her  side  for  ten  paces  without 
speaking. 

"My  God — my  God!"  he  said  then,  under  his 
breath.  And  after  another  silence  he  said  suddenly 
and  firmly:  "I'm  sorry,  Ellen.  I  know  how  you  and 
Gibbs  will  feel.  But  I  can't  stand  it  any  longer. 
Perhaps  other  men  can  do  it:  I  can't.  I'm  going  away 
• — get  a  job  somewhere — and  she's  going  with  me.  It's 
the  only  way,  for  me.  She's  a  better  woman  than  I 
am  a  man,  because  she  gave  herself  where  she  loved. 
I  thought  I'd  cut  everything,  and  get  out  for  awhile, 
but  now  I  see  that  this  is  the  way  out.  I'll  go,  and  I'll 
take  Lizzie.  We'll  go  now.  I'll  make  it  up  to  Lizzie, 
somehow!" 

"Oh,  Joe,  I  love  you!"  Ellen  said,  tears  and  laughter 
in  her  voice.  "I  think  that's  the  only  way  out!  I 
know  that  you'll  be  glad  some  day." 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  191 

Half  an  hour  later  she  sent  Lizzie  out  to  the  gate  on 
some  pretext,  and  Lizzie  did  not  come  back  for  almost 
two  hours.  When  she  did  come,  Ellen  was  playing 
with  Tommy,  and  Tommy's  stone  blocks,  on  the  nur 
sery  table. 

"Mrs.  Josselyn,"  Lizzie  said,  coming  close  to  her, 
and  laying  one  hand  on  Ellen's  arm,  "I  hope  God  will 
make  up  to  you  what  you  done  for  me.  I  don't  deserve 
you  should  treat  me  like  this — but  I'll  never  forget  it! 
Mrs.  Josselyn,  we've  been  talking — and  he's  just  gone 
down  to  get  the  four  o'clock  train — and  he  says  we 
are  to  be  married.  And  if  God  helps  me — if  God  helps 
me — I'll  make  him  the  best  wife !" 

And  Lizzie,  turning  her  back  suddenly,  began  to  cry 
again.  But  Ellen  knew  that  these  were  tears  of  joy. 
Her  own  mood  was  the  more  sober  of  the  two  as  she 
went  slowly  to  her  own  room.  The  right  thing  is  not 
always  the  easy  thing,  she  mused  apprehensively. 

Now  she  must  face  Gibbs  with  this  extraordinary 
news.  And  Gibbs,  intolerant  of  Joe  always,  would 
find  in  this  a  complete  confirmation  of  his  poor  opinion 
of  the  younger  man.  George  Lathrop's  dearest  dream 
shattered,  Harriet  and  a  fortune  flung  aside,  and  Joe 
and  a  village  girl,  ungrammatical  and  unlettered,  off 
to  be  married;  the  summary  was  disheartening  indeed. 
And  yet  under  all  her  uneasiness  Ellen's  heart  was  sing 
ing  with  the  joy  of  a  decision  wisely  made,  and  a  hard 
step  bravely  taken. 

She  left  Lizzie  tremulously  smiling,  and  building 
Tommy  such  a  tower  as  never  had  gladdened  his  eyes 
before,  and  went  downstairs  to  the  study.  Her  father- 
in-law  was  alone  there,  dreaming  over  a  fire  and  a  book, 
and  smiled  as  she  came  in.  Lillian  had  gone  off  with 


192  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

Mabel  Pointdexter  for  dinner,  he  explained,  and  would 
be  there  all  night.  Ellen,  seating  herself,  seemed  to 
feel  a  certain  lightening  in  the  atmosphere  with  Lillian's 
departure.  Presently  Gibbs  came  in,  silent  and  gloomy, 
to  find  them  having  tea.  He  declined  Ellen's  brief, 
civil  offer  with  equal  brevity  and  cold  civility.  He 
answered  his  father's  questions,  delivered  dryly,  with 
patient  monosyllables,  and  followed  his  wife  upstairs 
to  make  himself  presentable  for  the  informal  dinner. 

In  their  room,  Ellen  nervously  broached  the  subject 
of  Lizzie.  He  was  surprised,  but  his  comments  amazed 
her  with  their  mildness,  and  be  brought  a  pang  of 
strange,  unfamiliar  pleasure  to  her  heart  by  his  final 
summary: 

"I  think  you  did  right.  Joe's  not  the  first  man  who 
has  made  a  fool  of  himself,  but  they  may  hit  it  off,  after 
all.  She's  just  as  apt  to  make  him  a  good  wife  as  that 
empty-headed  little  Harriet.  I  respect  him  for  doing 
it." 

Ellen,  sitting  at  her  dressing  table,  felt  a  wave  of 
happiness,  almost  weakening  in  its  intensity,  pass  over 
her.  To  have  him  approve  her  again — to  have  the  ice 
of  the  past  months  show  the  least  break 

He  was  sitting  by  the  fire.  Now,  glancing  at  him 
through  her  mirror,  she  saw  him  drop  his  head  into  his 
hands. 

"Money!"  she  heard  him  say  moodily.  "What  good 
would  it  do  him?  What  good  has  it  done  any  of  us? 
I  wish  to  God  we  had  never  come  here!  I  wish  to  God 
we  had  stayed  in  Paris!" 

Why  did  they  go  downstairs  earlier  than  usual  that 
night  ?  Ellen  never  could  remember.  She  remembered 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  193 

that  they  had  not  dressed,  and  that  at  about  six  o'clock 
she  was  following  Gibbs  down  the  wide,  open  stairway, 
when  his  father  came  across  the  lower  hall  toward  them. 
The  old  man  held  the  evening  paper  that  Gibbs  had 
brought  from  the  city,  in  his  hand,  Ellen,  on  the  landing, 
stopped  short,  aghast  at  the  dark,  angry  suffusion  of 
blood  in  his  face. 

"Look  here  just  a  minute,  will  you,  Gibbs?"  his 
father  said  in  a  shaking  voice.  His  effort  to  control  it 
gave  it  almost  the  effect  of  a  shriek.  Gibbs  ran  down 
the  last  stairs,  and  joined  him  at  once,  bending  over 
the  paper  as  his  father  brought  it  to  his  attention. 
Ellen,  standing  where  she  was,  and  looking  down  upon 
them,  felt  herself  beginning  to  tremble. 

Gibbs  read  the  indicated  lines  and  faced  his  father. 
He  seemed  to  tower  over  the  old  man. 

"Well,  what  about  it?'*  he  asked  at  length,  after  a 
frightful  silence.  The  two  were  measuring  each  other 
like  wrestlers,  Gibbs's  eyes  hard  and  angry,  his  father's 
look  the  soul  of  all  that  was  suspicious  and  revengeful. 

Ellen  did  not  hear  the  old  man's  answer,  which  came 
in  a  quick,  furious  undertone,  nor  what  he  said  again, 
after  Gibbs  had  made  an  ugly  response.  Their  faces 
were  close  together,  and  they  looked  straight  into  each 
other's  eyes  as  they  spoke.  The  sound  of  their  tense, 
harsh  voices,  in  this  beautiful  hall  of  so  many  perfect 
silences  seemed  to  Ellen  full  of  sudden  terror  and 
menace. 

"You're  telling  a  deliberate  falsehood!"  she  heard 
the  old  man  snarl,  and  something  was  added  to  which 
Gibbs  answered,  in  a  measured,  grating  voice:  "You 
shall  not  say  that!  By  God,  no  man  shall  say  that 
to  me!" 


194  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

And  suddenly  the  dignified  custom  of  the  years 
dropped  from  both,  and  they  were  like  two  hairy  deni 
zens  of  some  primeval  forest  ready  to  spring  and  rend. 
The  storm  had  come  so  suddenly,  and  from  so  clear  a 
sky,  that  Ellen  had  had  no  time  to  run  for  help,  no 
time  to  think.  She  stood  where  she  was,  one  hand 
gripping  the  carved  dark  wood  of  the  rail,  the  other 
pressed  against  her  heart. 

"Oh,  don't!"  she  whispered,  unheard.  "Oh,  what 
Is  it?" 

She  caught  the  words  ".  .  .  you  hound  .  .  . 
you  liar!  Betraying  your  own  father  .  .  .  lying 
your  way  out  of  it  like  a  common  .  .  ."!  and  then 
everything  was  unintelligible  again  until  Gibbs,  hoarse 
with  passion,  shouted  suddenly: 

"  I'll  stop  you,  by  God !  I'll  kill  you  before  I'll  listen 
to  you!  .  .  .  I'll  stop  you  .  .  .!" 

"Oh,  no,  Gibbs!"  she  half-sobbed,  from  the  landing, 
seeing  the  threatening  gesture.  In  the  same  instant 
the  old  man  groped  blindly  for  an  ivory  scimetar  that 
lay  on  the  hall  table,  a  beautiful  thing  supposedly  a 
book-knife,  but  measuring  some  two  feet  in  length,  and 
very  heavy. 

Then  suddenly  it  was  all  over.  Silence  fell  in  the 
hall,  and  cutting  through  it  Ellen  heard  the  gasp  of  a 
maid.  Torrens  and  some  of  the  girls  had  come  running 
in. 

Gibbs,  with  an  ugly  sneering  smile  on  his  lips,  stum 
bled  back,  clearing  with  his  hand  a  flowing  skin-wound 
in  his  forehead.  His  face,  under  the  trickling  red,  was 
ghastly.  The  old  man,  steadying  himself  with  one 
hand  on  the  table,  stood  panting  and  staring  wildly 
at  him. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  195 

"By  God,  you  ought  to  be  killed  .  .  .  my 
mother's  name  .  .  .  a  fight  like  this !"  Gibbs  spoke 
thickly,  his  breast  heaving.  "If  any  other  man  had 
said  that  . 

"You  get  out  of  my  house!"  the  old  man  answered, 
in  a  quivering  whisper.  "Get  out  of  my  house — do 
you  hear?" 

"I'll  get  out  of  your  house!  "his  son  answered  bitterly. 
As  he  strode  toward  the  big  closet  the  maids  murmured 
and  drew  back  from  him.  "I'll  get  out  and  I'll  take 
my  wife  and  child  to-morrow!"  he  said  surlily. 

"Gibbs,  dear!"  Ellen  had  run  down  the  stairs,  and 
was  clinging  to  his  arm.  "Gibbs,  dear,  it's  your  father! 
Don't  speak  so!" 

He  took  her  hand  from  his  arm,  but  not  roughly, 
and  for  a  moment  looked  at  her  vaguely.  He  had 
taken  an  overcoat  from  the  closet,  and  had  his  cap  in 
his  hand. 

"Gibbs,  you'll  come  back!"  she  begged  urgently 
as  he  turned  toward  the  door.  "When  you're  cooler, 
Gibbs — you  mustn't  quarrel  with  your  father — 

She  saw  that  in  the  whirl  of  his  passion  he  could  not 
hear  her,  or  could  not  understand  her.  But  at  the 
door  he  seemed  suddenly  to  notice  Torrens,  and  he 
turned  back. 

"Here's  your  chauffeur,"  he  said  bitingly,  to  his 
father.  "Why  don't  you  ask  him  where  your  wife 
was  that  night  ?  Why  don't  you  ask  him  whether  he 
left  her  in  Great  Neck,  or  whether  she  took  a  train 
for  the  city?  You  remember  the  night  of  the  storm, 
Torrens:  where  did  you  leave  Mrs.  Josselyn  that 
night?" 

"I  took  her  to  Mrs.  Pepper's  house  in  Great  Neck, 


196  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

sir,"  the  man  said,  eager  and  uneasy,  "Before  we 
laid  the  car  up,  we  went  there,  sir." 

Gibbs  gave  one  last  look  at  his  father,  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  was  gone.  The  noise  of  the  slamming 
heavy  door  died  away,  and  there  was  silence.  The 
maids  stood  grouped  together  at  the  dining-room  door, 
their  eyes  terrified.  Josselyn,  Senior,  was  still  keeping 
one  fine  old  hand  on  the  table  for  support,  his  eyes 
fixed  unseeingly  upon  a  spot  on  the  floor  a  few  feet 
away,  his  head  hanging. 

Ellen  was  the  first  to  move.  She  gave  the  maids 
a  quick  look  that  dismissed  them,  and  went  to  put  her 
arm  about  the  old  man's  shoulders. 

"Come  into  the  study,"  she  commanded  him,  as  if 
he  had  been  Tommy.  She  was  trembling  herself 
and  her  heart  was  beating  violently.  This  burst  of 
primitive  fury,  this  rending  of  all  the  careful  structure 
of  years,  had  left  her  shaken  and  shocked.  "Smiles 
and  politeness  and  explanations  for  years,"  thought 
Ellen,  "and  then  suddenly — this!" 

The  old  man  sank  into  a  chair  by  the  fire  and  leaned 
wearily  back  with  closed  eyes.  For  a  while  they  were 
silent:  Ellen,  watching  her  father-in-law  anxiously, 
saw  that  he  was  breathing  more  evenly,  and  gradually 
regaining  his  self-control. 

"I  struck  him,  Ellen — I  struck  him!"  he  said  sud 
denly,  resting  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  his  elbows  on 
his  knees.  He  looked  old,  and  strangely  broken.  "I 
saw  it  in  that  accursed  paper,"  he  went  on,  "that 
Lindsay  Pepper  and  his  mother  had  gotten  back  yes 
terday  from  visiting  the  sister,  in  Montreal.  And  it  all 
came  over  me  in  a  flash —  I  thought  he  and  Lillian 
had  made  the  lie  up  between  them." 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  197 

"But  you  remember  that  Torrens,  that  very  morning 
in  the  studio,  said  that  he  had  just  come  in  from  Great 
Neck,"  she  said  soothingly. 

"I'd  forgotten  it!"  he  answered,  stricken. 

"I  know  how  Gibbs  feels  about  Lillian,"  Ellen 
said  gravely,  in  a  low  tone.  "But  Gibbs  wouldn't  do 
that!  Oh,  no,  I  know  he  wouldn't!"  she  added,  half 
to  herself.  And  as  he  gave  her  a  miserable  look,  every 
thing  that  was  sane  and  motherly  in  her  came  to  the 
surface.  "Now,  let's  not  worry  about  it,"  she  said 
cheerfully.  "Gibbs  was  too  angry  to  be  reasonable, 
but  I  begged  him  to  come  back,  and  I  know  that  as 
soon  as  he's  worn  off  some  of  his  temper,  he  will.  Then 
you  can  explain  it  to  him:  it  isn't,"  Ellen  added  in 
nocently,  "it  isn't  as  if  he  hadn't  rather  lost  his  head 
over  Lillian,  you  know,  he  has  something  to  blame  him 
self  for  there!" 

"You've  known  it  all  along,"  Josselyn,  Senior,  com 
mented  thoughtfully,  with  a  shrewd  look. 

"Oh,  yes!     I've  seen  it." 

"And  how  much  does  he  care  about  her,  do  you 
think?" 

Ellen  flushed,  and  managed  a  smile,  before  she 
answered  bravely: 

"Oh,  she  fascinated  him,  I  think,  from  the  first. 
I  don't  know—  Her  voice  dropped  wearily.  "  He'll 

come  back,  and  he'll  be  sorry  for  this  quarrel,"  she 
added,  after  a  silence.  "And  you'll  forgive  him,  won't 
you?" 

"I  struck  him,"  the  old  man  repeated  sombrely. 
"I  don't  know  how  I  ever  came  to  do  a  thing  like  that. 
Yes — yes,"  he  added  sadly.  "We  must  make  it  up 
— my  boy  and  I.  I  never  should  have  brought  you 


198  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

both  here — a  man  is  dull  a/bout  such  things.  Welll 
We'll  make  it  up:  and  you  and  he  shall  start  fresh 
somewhere " 

"Dinner,  Mrs.  Josselyn,"  said  Florence  in  the  door 
way,  rather  timidly,  breaking  a  few  minutes  of  silence 
in  the  study. 

"I  think  I'll  not  dine "  the  old  man  began  quickly. 

But  Ellen  went  to  him  with  a  smile. 

"Indeed  you'll  dine!"  she  decreed.  "And,  Florence, 
go  see  if  Tommy  has  had  his  dinner.  If  he  has  not, 
tell  Lizzie  I  said  he  might  dine  with  us.  You'll  feel 
very  differently,"  she  said  to  her  father-in-law,  as  they 
went  toward  the  dining  room,  "when  you've  had  some 
hot  soup,  and  perhaps  Gibbs  will  come  back  in  time 
for  some  coffee!" 

Tommy  came  rioting  down  the  stairs,  explaining 
that  he  had  had  some  dinner,  but  would  like  some 
more,  and  the  three  shared  the  meal  with  great  se 
renity.  Indeed  to  Ellen  the  air  seemed  clearer  for  the 
storm,  or  perhaps  it  was  the  pleasant  absence  of 
Lillian;  and  Lillian's  perfumed  and  smiling  insincerities. 

After  dinner  she  and  Tommy  went  with  Josselyn, 
Senior,  into  the  study,  and  even  after  Tommy  was  in 
bed  Ellen  ran  down  again  for  a  few  friendly  words  of 
good-night.  She  pleaded  a  headache  as  an  excuse  for 
going  upstairs  almost  immediately  after  the  little  boy, 
but  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  excitement  rather  than 
distress  that  made  Ellen  long  for  the  quiet  of  her  own 
fire  to-night. 

When  Lizzie  had  gone  to  bed,  Ellen  sat  on,  thinking. 
Lizzie  came  in,  to  stand  beside  the  fireplace,  and 
talk  to  her,  half-shamed,  half-shy,  but  yet  with  a  cer 
tain  great  happiness  in  her  face.  And  as  Ellen  drew 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  199 

from  her  the  story  of  the  sordid  home,  the  drink  and 
dirt  and  laziness,  the  unwelcome  babies,  the  lack  of 
courage,  self-control,  kindness,  of  everything  that 
makes  life  worth  while,  she  marvelled  at  the  world 
that  could  accept  Lillian,  and  cast  Lizzie  out  as  a 
sinner. 

She  had  a  book,  but  she  could  not  read  it.  Thoughts 
of  the  long  day  would  interpose  themselves  between  her 
and  the  page.  Now  she  was  talking  to  Lizzie  again, 
now  walking  through  the  wet  roads  to  meet  Joe. 
And  Gibbs  had  not  been  unfavourable,  had  even  been 
negatively  approving,  of  their  marriage.  Lizzie,  Joe's 
wife!  It  was  a  strange  turn  of  events.  And  yet  it 
seemed  to  give  Ellen  back  her  little  brother  again. 
She  had  vaguely  visualized  that  injured  village  girl,  had 
made  her  a  coarse  girl,  perfumed,  rouged,  and  loud  of 
voice.  She  was  glad  to  dismiss  this  girl  from  her 
thoughts  forever,  and  put  grieving,  patient,  silent  little 
Lizzie  in  her  place.  He  could  not  ask  a  truer  and  kinder 
and  more  devoted  wife.  And  it  was  right,  after  all. 
There  was  not  much  to  fear  from  that  course. 

And  then  she  remembered  the  quarrel,  herself  inno 
cently  following  Gibbs  downstairs,  and  being  arrested 
on  the  landing  by  the  frightening,  rough  voices.  How 
strange  they  had  sounded,  how  hideously  alarming  this 
unexplained  and  sudden  animosity! 

"Now  we  will  go  away,"  Ellen  thought,  in  deep 
satisfaction.  For  even  though  Gibbs  became  recon 
ciled  to  his  father,  he  would  no  longer  live  in  the 
"  Villino  dell'  Orto."  He  would  take  Ellen  and  Tommy 
to  some  little  apartment — a  sunny  kitchen — and  the 
old  hilarious  breakfasts 

Ten  o'clock.     Ellen  roused  herself  from  a   golden 


SOO  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

dream,  and  began  to  prepare  for  bed.  She  stepped 
into  the  next  room  for  a  good-night  look  at  Tommy. 
Lizzie,  in  the  narrow  bed  beside  his  short,  square  bed, 
was  asleep,  too,  her  relaxed  little  sensitive  face  wearing 
a  smile  as  childish  as  Tommy's  own.  Before  she  got 
into  her  own  bed,  Ellen  put  out  her  lights,  and  stood 
at  the  window,  looking  out  at  the  dark,  cold  night. 

It  was  sharply  clear,  the  stars  shining  coldly. 
Against  the  bare  shrubs  at  an  angle  of  the  house  she 
could  see  the  dull  green  light  that  filtered  from  the 
bottle-end  windows  of  the  study,  and  far  across  the 
hills  there  was  another  light,  the  country  club,  where 
Gibbs  perhaps  had  dined.  Ellen  left  a  shaded  light 
for  him;  before  the  clock  struck  eleven  she  was  sound 
asleep. 

Yet  she  was  too  tired  and  excited  to  sleep  deeply, 
and  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  been  waking  and  toss 
ing  a  long  time  when  a  slight  but  definite  sound  awak 
ened  her,  and  she  sat  up  in  bed.  The  night  light  was 
still  burning,  and  the  fire  had  been  coaxed  into  fresh 
life.  It  was  after  two  o'clock.  Gibbs,  still  dressed, 
was  sitting  staring  at  the  coals. 

"Gibbs!"   she  said  bewilderedly. 

He  got  up,  and  as  he  came  to  the  side  of  the  bed  she 
saw  that  his  hair  was  tossed  about  in  disorder,  and  his 
face  strangely  pale.  The  cut  on  his  forehead  looked 
ugly  and  swollen,  and  his  manner  was  agitated  and 
stern. 

"Look  here,  Ellen,"  he  said  quickly.  "We  get  out 
of  here  to-morrow  morning,  do  you  understand  ?  I'm 
done  with  this  house.  I'll  not  stay  here  an  unnecessary 
hour,  do  you  see?" 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  201 

"Why,  certainly,  dear,  I'll  go  anywhere — whatever 
you  say!"  she  said  soothingly.  For  a  few  minutes  he 
stood  looking  at  her  gloomily,  then  his  face  softened. 

"You're  a  good  little  thing,  Ellen!"  he  said  gruffly. 
The  quick  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes  as  he  turned  away; 
she  saw  him  through  the  glittering  haze  of  them.  He 
did  not  speak  again,  as  he  undressed,  and  Ellen,  leaving 
all  talk  of  reconciliation  and  all  planning  until  the 
morning,  and  with  a  lighter  heart  than  she  had  had  for 
many  weeks,  fell  asleep  again. 


CHAPTER  XII 

ELLEN  awakened  to  find  Gibbs  swiftly  packing.  His 
manner  discouraged  any  attempt  she  might  have  made 
to  soften  him;  far  better  to  give  him  his  way  while  this 
unfamiliar  and  terrifying  mood  lasted.  She  went  into 
the  nursery  and  found  Lizzie  packing,  too,  she  and 
Tommy  had  had  breakfast,  and  the  child  was  wild 
with  excitement.  They  were  going  to  Dad's  studio, 
and  Marie  was  going  to  cook  for  them,  and  they  were 
going  to  get  an  apartment  somewhere  near.  Ellen, 
dressed,  went  back  to  Gibbs. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  eat  any  breakfast,  dear?" 

"No,  thank  you!" 

"Gibbs — but  you'll  say  good-bye  to  your  father?" 

He  made  no  answer,  strapping  shirts  into  the  lid  of 
his  suitcase. 

"What  train  do  we  take,  Gibbs?" 

"I'll  start  in  the  roadster  just  as  soon  as  you're  ready. 
We  take  Tommy,  and  Lizzie  can  follow  by  train." 

"I'll  wait — and  have  breakfast  with  you,  in  the 
studio,"  Ellen  said,  opening  her  own  bureau  drawers, 
and  thoughtfully  selecting  linen. 

"I  ask  you — as  a  favour — to  go  down  and  get  some 
thing  to  eat!"  he  answered  sharply. 

Instantly  she  obeyed.  But  passing  him,  she  laid 
her  hand  pleadingly  on  his  arm,  and  he  put  his  arms 
about  her. 

"Don't  be  cross  with  me,  Gibbs!  I'm  so  sorry " 

202 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  203 

"Cross  with  you!"  he  echoed  penitently.  "Who 
could  be  cross  with  you!  No,  but  I'm  nervous,  Ellen — 
I  won't  be  happy  until  we  get  away!  Just  help  me 
out,  all  you  can 

"I  will!"  she  answered.  And  her  heart  sang  as  she 
went  downstairs.  In  an  hour  she  and  Tommy  and 
Gibbs  would  be  in  the  car,  speeding  away  from  this 
unnatural  atmosphere.  Gibbs  would  not  be  reconciled 
now,  but  after  a  few  quiet  days  he  would  forget  his 
present  anger,  she  knew.  And  she  would  say  good-bye 
to  her  father-in-law,  and  beg  him  to  be  patient  with 
Gibbs.  She  ate  her  fruit,  and  drank  a  cup  of  coffee, 
shaking  her  head  as  Florence  came  in  with  an  omelette. 

"Nothing  more,  Florence.  Has  Mr.  Josselyn  had  his 
breakfast  yet?" 

"No,  Mrs.  Josselyn.  He  is  in  the  study,  I  think. 
At  least  Mollie  said  she  saw  the  light  there  when  she 
started  the  breakfast  fire,  before  sunrise." 

"So  early?"  Ellen  got  up.  "He  must  have  had  a 
bad  night,"  she  added.  "Hasn't  he  rung  for  any 
coffee?" 

"No,  Mrs.  Josselyn.  You  know  he  doesn't  like  the 
girls  to  interrupt  him  there,  so  Katie  didn't  go  in 

"I  know  he  doesn't,"  Ellen  smiled.  "But  he  doesn't 
mind  me!"  And  turning  over  in  her  mind  the  exact 
phrases  with  which  she  meant  to  bid  him  good-bye,  she 
went  to  the  study. 

Sunlight  was  coming  in  through  the  bottle-green 
windows  now,  but  the  lights  were  lighted,  and  gave  a 
garish  look  to  the  place.  Cold  ashes  had  drifted  to 
the  hearth.  The  air  was  stale  and  dull.  Ellen  felt 
her  breath  taken  away  with  a  swift  impulse  of  fear. 
Her  father-in-law  was  sitting  by  the  fireplace  in  his 


204  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

favourite  chair.  He  did  not  turn  as  she  came  in,  and 
she  spoke  to  him,  using  the  name  he  liked,  from  her: 

" Dad  ?     Dad— aren't  you  well  ? " 

Her  voice  died  into  silence.  She  went  to  his  side, 
and  touched  his  arm.  Then  she  knew  that  he  was  dead. 

"He's  fainted,  that's  all!"  she  said  aloud.  But  her 
own  voice  frightened  her  and  she  stood  there  for  a  few 
minutes,  rooted  to  the  spot  with  horror  and  shock,  star 
ing  at  the  fallen  gray  head  and  the  still  hands.  Then 
she  backed  slowly  from  the  room,  and  ran  wildly  back 
to  the  dining  room. 

"  Florence — Mr.  Josselyn  is  very  ill — he's — telephone 
for  Doctor  Cutter,  will  you?  And — and  telephone  for 
Mr.  Lathrop — I'm  going  up  to  get  Mr.  Gibbs " 

"My  God,  Mrs.  Josselyn,  oughtn't  we  get  him  to 
bed?" 

Florence,  a  sensible  gray-haired  woman  of  fifty, 
had  her  arm  about  Ellen  now,  and  was  holding  a  glass 
of  ice-water  to  her  lips. 

"No — no  use!"  Ellen  whispered,  staring  at  her. 
"He's  dead,  Florence!" 

"It's  his  heart,"  Florence  said,  pale  herself.  Ellen 
ran  on  her  way  upstairs. 

"Gibbs,"  she  said,  at  his  side,  "your  father — we 
found  him  in  his  chair — he's — I  think  he's  dead — 
Gibbs " 

"Good  God!"  he  said  violently.  He  pushed  her 
aside  as  he  ran  to  the  door.  Ellen  stood  still  for  a 
moment  in  the  centre  of  the  room.  Then  she  called 
Lizzie. 

"Lizzie,"  she  said,  quivering,  "a  terrible  thing  has 
happened.  Mr.  Josselyn's  father  has  dropped  dead. 
I  want  you  to  keep  Tommy  in  the  nursery  all  morning. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  205 

We'll  have  the  doctor  here — other  people — and  I  don't 
want  him  to  know.  He  can  play  on  his  porch " 

"Depend  on  me,  Mrs.  Josselyn,"  Lizzie  said  quietly. 
"Well,  the  poor  old  man,  God  rest  him!" 

"It  was  the  quarrel — it  was  the  quarrel — and  Gibbs 
will  never  forgive  himself!"  Ellen  said  to  herself,  as  she 
went  slowly  downstairs  again. 

The  whole  house  was  in  confusion  now.  Gibbs  and 
Torrens  were  bending  over  the  dreadful  figure  in  the 
chair  by  the  study  fire,  Florence  hovered  near  them, 
Keno  and  one  or  two  of  the  other  maids  were  grouped 
fearfully  near  the  door. 

As  Ellen  came  in  Torrens  straightened  himself,  and 
looked  at  Gibbs. 

"That  wasn't  heart  failure,  Mr.  Josselyn,"  he  said 
quietly,  "he's  shot  himself  right  through  the  heart — 
look  here,  sir." 

One  of  the  girls  gave  a  hysterical  scream,  and  Ellen 
cried  out:  "Oh,  no — oh,  no,  why  should  he  do  that!" 

But  her  eyes,  and  the  eyes  of  everyone  else  in  the 
room,  went  swiftly  to  Gibbs;  the  son  whose  bitter  quarrel 
with  him  had  broken  the  old  man's  heart. 

"Get  these  girls  out  of  the  room,  Ellen,"  Gibbs  said 
briefly.  "And  have  them  fix  my  father's  bed,  Florence; 
we're  going  to  get  him  upstairs."  He  turned  sharply 
to  Torrens.  "What  did  you  say?" 

"I  say  that  I  don't  think  we  had  better  touch  him, 
sir,"  the  man  answered.  "We'll  have  the  coroner  here, 
sir,  and  he'll  want  to  find  things  like  they  are " 

"I  guess  you're  right,"  Gibbs  said,  after  a  pause, 
staring  at  him  dully.  "I  guess  you're  right.  We'U 
have  to  have  the  coroner — who  is  the  coroner,  and 
where  is  he,  do  you  know?" 


206  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"Mineola,"  quavered  one  of  the  maids. 

"Yes,  that's  right,"  Torrens  approved. 

"I  can  telephone  for  him,  sir,"  Florence  offered. 

"I  suppose  you  had  better,"  Gibbs  said.  "And  tele 
phone  for  Mr.  Lathrop,  at  Sands  Point." 

"We  did  telephone  George,"  Ellen  told  him  quickly, 
"he  is  on  his  way." 

"Do  you  know  where  to  telephone  Mrs.  Josselyn?" 
Florence  asked  respectfully. 

Ellen  and  Gibbs  looked  at  each  other.  It  was  the 
first  time  they  had  thought  of  Lillian. 

"Yes,    telephone   her   at    Mrs.    Pointdexter's ' 

Ellen  said  hesitatingly.  "Perhaps  I  had  better  do 
that.  Had  Torrens  better  go  for  her?  It  isn't  very  far. 
I'll  telephone  and  tell  Mrs.  Pointdexter  to  prepare  her 
somehow." 

Immediately  activities  of  all  sorts  commenced. 
Torrens  went  off  on  his  errand,  Florence  went  to  the 
telephone,  and  the  maids  scattered.  Gibbs  seemed 
dazed;  Ellen  kept  herself  in  his  neighbourhood.  Florence 
came  back  from  the  telephone  for  advice:  the  coroner 
had  asked  if  they  had  seen  the  revolver  with  which 
Mr.  Josselyn  had  killed  himself,  sir. 

Gibbs  roused  himself.  Ellen  saw  him  brace  himself 
to  go  into  the  room  of  horror  again.  She  went  with 
him.  Presently  Gibbs  himself  went  to  tell  the  waiting 
coroner,  at  the  telephone,  that  they  did  not  seem  able 
to  find  the  weapon. 

"What  did  he  say?"  Ellen  asked  him. 

"Said  he  was  coming  over,"  Gibbs  answered  with 
weary  indifference. 

Presently  George  came  in,  breathing  cold  air,  pulling 
off  his  thick  gloves,  and  full  of  sympathetic  distress 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  207 

With  him  came  Joe,  silent,  full  of  sympathy.  Ellen 
felt  them  both  towers  of  strength.  In  an  incredibly 
short  time  other  men  arrived,  old  Doctor  Cutter,  and 
Corrigan,  the  coroner,  a  stout,  cheerful-looking  man, 
the  sheriff  and  his  deputies.  The  lower  hall,  Ellen 
noticed,  was  tracked  with  the  mud  of  boots.  It  was 
all  like  a  dream.  In  all  the  strangeness,  Ellen  heard 
Keno  saying  that  the  cleaner  was  there,  did  Ellen 
know  which  coat  Mrs.  Josselyn  meant  to  have  cleaned? 
and  Ellen  thought  that  was  strange,  too.  Lillian 
would  wear  black  now;  Ellen  would  wear  black;  every 
thing  was  changed.  And  yet  the  cleaner  called  as 
usual. 

George  came  to  her,  where  she  sat  forlornly  in  the 
hall,  and  told  her  to  go  upstairs. 

"Have  a  fire,"  he  said  kindly,  "and  let  Tommy  come 
in  and  play.  Try  not  to  let  the  thing  scare  you " 

"Does  Lillian  know?"  Ellen  asked. 

"Lillian  is  on  her  way  here;  she'll  come  upstairs,  too," 
George  said.  "Now  go  on  up,  dear.  This  will  only 
distress  you." 

Ellen  obeyed.  She  and  Tommy  and  Lizzie  shared 
her  fire,  and  while  Ellen  read  the  adventures  of  Sinbad 
the  Sailor,  Lizzie  put  the  room  in  order,  and  unpacked 
all  the  clothes  that  Gibbs  had  so  swiftly  packed  a  few 
hours  ago. 

After  awhile  Keno  came  in  to  ask  her  to  come  to 
Lillian's  room,  and  Ellen  found  Lillian  there,  with  the 
sympathetic  Mrs.  Pointdexter  in  attendance.  Lillian 
was  lying  by  the  fire,  robed  in  white.  She  turned  aside 
her  head,  as  Ellen  came  in,  and  burst  into  tears.  After 
a  moment  she  regained  her  composure,  but  while  the 
other  women  murmured  together,  she  did  not  speak. 


208  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

Now  and  then  she  touched  her  eyes  with  a  folded  hand 
kerchief. 

"I  don't  think  Lillian'II  live  through  it,"  Mrs. 
Pointdexter  said  presently,  with  watering  eyes. 

"Yes,  I  will — yes,  I  will,"  Lillian  said  bravely. 
"  Because  I  know  that  is  what  he  would  want  me  to  do ! " 

Ellen  escaped  as  soon  as  she  decently  could.  In  the 
hall  she  met  Sophy,  one  of  the  upstairs  maids. 

"Is  there  anything  I  could  get  for  you,  Mrs.  Josse- 
lyn?"  the  girl  asked  sympathetically.  "I'm  going  in 
to  Landmann's  for  some  clothes  and  hats " 

Ellen  glanced  at  the  carefully  written  list.  "Very 
simple,  but  smart"  Lillian  had  underlined.  An  impulse 
of  utter  revolt  smote  her. 

But  she  said  nothing  for  a  moment.  Then  she  mildly 
asked  Sophy  to  use  her  own  judgment.  Since  life 
was  what  it  was  there  must  be  funerals:  and  at  funerals 
the  family  must  be  decently  craped  and  veiled. 

About  ten  o'clock  George  came  to  her  room,  and 
carefully  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"This  matter  begins  to  look  rather  serious,  Ellen," 
he  said,  his  face  very  grave. 

"You  can't  find  the  pistol?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"Oh,  yes,  we  found  it — it  was  in  the  wastebasket — 
on  the  other  side  the  room.  Corrigan  says  that  he  could 
n't  have  possibly "  He  paused.  "They've  sent  for 

Dan  Ryan." 

"Ryan?"  Ellen  asked,  puzzled. 

"The  District  Attorney,"  George  said  quietly. 

"Then  that's "  she  began,  with  whitening  lips. 

Her  voice  stopped. 

"That's  murder,"  George  Lathrop  finished.  "Any- 
vway,  these  fellows  say  so.  They  may  be  wrong,  I 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  209 

hope  to  God  they  are!  But  it's  going  to  be  something 
of  a  strain — where  could  you  send  the  boy  and  his 
nurse?  They'd  better  not  be  in  the  house." 

"To  Port  Washington — Aunt  Elsie's.  I'll  send 
them  at  once!"  she  promised,  trying  to  collect  her 
senses. 

"That's  right.     And  pull  yourself  together,  Ellen." 

He  patted  her  shoulder  affectionately  and  left  the 
room.  Ellen  turned  to  the  window  and  stood  there  a 
moment,  struggling  to  control  her  nerves.  There  was 
a  tightening  sensation  in  her  throat,  her  lips  were  dry, 
and  her  hands  ice  cold.  As  she  stared  out  across  the 
bare  garden  and  clipped  hedges,  a  motor-car  wheeled 
into  the  pebbled  drive  and  stopped  at  the  door.  Four 
men  stepped  from  the  automobile.  Instinctively  Ellen 
knew  that  among  them  was  the  District  Attorney. 

She  turned  giddy  a  moment,  her  senses  swimming. 

"I  mustn't  give  way  like  this,"  she  told  herself 
sharply,  sinking  into  a  chair,  and  making  a  desperate 
attempt  to  compose  herself. 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  George  Lathrop  knocked 
again  on  her  door,  she  was  still  sitting  there. 

"Is  Lizzie  here?"  he  asked.  "Ryan  has  come. 
He  wants  to  talk  to  her.  I  told  him  about  the  boy 
and  your  wish  to  get  him  away.  He  understands  and 
is  quite  willing.  He'll  get  Lizzie's  deposition  and  then 
she  may  go." 

Ellen  rose  bravely  and  went  toward  the  nursery. 

"This  is  all  a  formality,  my  dear,"  George  said 
kindly.  "We'll  have  to  have  all  the  maids  in,  Torrens 
and  the  rest.  The  coroner  must  have  a  verdict,  you 
know.  We  won't  keep  Lizzie  long.  And,  Ellen, 
Ryan  will  question  you  later,  you  know.  I'll  be  right 


210  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

there.  And  let  me  advise  you,  my  dear.  Don't  talk 
fast;  think  a  moment  before  you  answer  and  be  sure  of 
what  you  say — don't  try  to  keep  anything  back.  No 
matter  where  the  conversation  seems  to  lead,  tell  the 
sober,  careful  truth/' 

"George!"  Ellen  said  in  sudden  terror,  "they'll 
find  out  that  Gibbs  and  his  father  had  a  terrible  quarrel 
yesterday — you  must  have  noticed  the  cut  on  his  fore 
head " 

"They  know  all  about  that!"  he  answered  sooth 
ingly.  "They'll  know  everything,  sooner  or  later. 
So  just  go  straight  ahead,  and  tell  them  the  story  just 
as  you  would  tell  me " 

"But  a  wife  isn't  expected  to  testify  against  her 
husband,"  she  said,  half  wild  with  apprehension.  The 
man  looked  at  her  silently  for  a  moment. 

"Do  you  realize  the  situation  that  we  are  facing, 
Ellen?"  he  asked,  with  deadly  gravity.  "Do  you 
realize  the  danger  of  your  insinuation  that  your  telling 
the  simple  truth  would  be  construed  into  testimony 
against  Gibbs?" 

She  looked  at  him,  breathing  hard. 

"I  see!"  she  said,  in  a  whisper.  "George,  I'll  put 
everything  out  of  my  mind — I  promise  you!  I'll  try 
to  be  sensible.  But,  George — they  won't — they 
can't- 

He  did  not  speak,  but  his  look  silenced  her. 

"You  want  Lizzie,  don't  you?"  she  said  composedly, 
after  a  moment.  "I'll  send  her  out.  And  meanwhile, 
I'll  be  packing  the  baby's  things,  arid  send  them  away 
directly." 

"Excellent!"  he  said.  "Then  we  can  get  hold  of 
Lizzie  again  if  we  need  her." 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  211 

"I'll  telephone  Aunt  Elsie,"  Ellen  added  thought 
fully.  She  went  into  the  nursery  where  Lizzie  had 
been  reading  to  Tommy  and  sent  the  girl  out. 

Lizzie  was  downstairs  not  more  than  fifteen  minutes. 
Ellen  looked  fearfully  at  her  face  when  she  came  up. 

"It  wasn't  anything,"  Lizzie  said,  in  a  low  tone, 
over  her  packing.  "He  just  asked  me  a  few  questions, 
and  how  I  knew  there  was  a  pistol  in  that  drawer — 
and  whether  I  had  heard  anything  about  Mr.  Josselyn 
and  his  father  fighting — he  spoke  kind  enough,  and 
a  young  fellow  there  wrote  it  down.  I  said  I  hadn't 
been  downstairs  until  after  they  had  their  trouble 

"Listen,"  said  Tommy,  rushing  in  from  the  other 
room,  and  insinuating  his  person  into  his  mother's 
lap," Will  you  tell  Aunt  Elsie  that  I  can  go  down 
on  the  ice?" 

"You  be  a  good  boy  for  Lizzie,  dearest,"  Ellen 
said,  kissing  him.  "And  you'll  keep  him  absolutely  by 
himself,  Lizzie  ?"  she  asked.  "I  don't  want  him  to  hear 
any  talk  of  this."  Ellen  sighed  in  sick  foreboding. 
There  would  be  talk  enough!  She  had  his  luncheon  and 
Lizzie's  brought  upstairs,  and  saw  them  off  at  one  o'clock. 
Gibbs  came  up  for  a  moment,  looking  white,  and 
Tommy  gave  his  parents  frantic  hugs  for  good-bye. 
Ellen  breathed  easier  when  the  little  boy  was  out  of 
the  atmosphere  of  death  and  mystery. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"  JUST  tell  me  simply  and  fully  all  about  yesterday," 
said  the  District  Attorney  pleasantly.  Ellen,  facing 
him  across  the  big  table  in  the  library,  smiled  ner 
vously  in  answer  to  his  encouraging  smile.  The 
library  seemed  full  of  men:  some  writing,  some  watch 
ing  her.  Doctor  Cutter  was  there,  and  George  Lathrop. 
The  air  was  thick  with  the  odour  of  strong  cigars,  and 
also  the  smell  of  trays  of  coffee  and  sandwiches  that 
had  been  taken  away  a  short  time  before.  Ellen  had 
heard  one  of  the  men  order  them  as  unconcernedly  as 
if  he  were  in  a  restaurant. 

She  began  shakily,  gaining  confidence  as  she  went  on. 
They  were  all  kind  to  her;  they  even  infused  a  sort  of 
brightness  into  the  air.  Occasionally  she  was  inter 
rupted,  but  the  questions  were  unexpectedly  few  and 
brief. 

"Just  a  minute  there,  Mrs.  Josselyn.  About  that 
revolver.  You  came  into  the  study  and  found  the 
girl  looking  at  it?" 

"She  had  it  in  her  hand." 

"Raised  in  the  air?" 

"Oh,  no,  lying  idly  on  the  table.  She  was  fright 
ened  when  I  came  in.  I  threw  it  in  the  drawer,  and 
shut  the  drawer." 

"She  didn't  go  back  to  that  room  again?" 

"I  am  sure  she  did  not.  She  has  told  you  it  was 
a — a  quarrel  with  her  fiance — with  my  brother,  in 

212 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  213 

fact,  that  made  her  desperate.  I  sent  for  my  brother, 
and  they  were — were  reconciled." 

"She  couldn't  have  gone  downstairs  after  dinner?" 

"I  know  she  did  not.  We  were  talking  until  late — 
until  after  ten  o'clock,  and  when  she  went  back  to  the 
nursery  she  left  the  door  open.  She  spoke  to  me 
again  while  she  was  brushing  her  hair.  And  at  eleven 
I  went  to  look  at  my  son  and  I  saw  her  asleep." 

"You  had  not  suspected  her  attachment  to  your 
brother?" 

"No,  sir.  She  had  been  my  aunt's — helper,  and  it 
began  then." 

Ellen  went  on  with  her  recital.  She  fixed  her  eyes  on 
a  small  bronze  paper  weight  on  the  desk  and  tried  to 
speak  as  distinctly  and  as  deliberately  as  possible, 
striving,  at  the  same  time,  to  give  her  recollections  of 
the  events  of  the  terrible  day  in  proper  sequence. 
When  she  finished  there  was  a  tense  stillness  in  the 
room. 

It  was  broken  by  the  crackle  of  a  sheet  of  paper  on 
which  Ryan  had  made  some  notes  while  she  had  been 
speaking  and  which  he  now  began  to  study  carefully. 
George  rose  and  filled  a  glass  with  water  and  brought 
it  to  her.  There  was  a  general  stir  among  the  room's 
occupants;  a  sibilant  murmur  was  audible. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Josselyn,  there  are  some  questions  I 
should  like  to  ask  you."  Ryan  laid  down  his  notes 
and  cleared  his  throat.  "I  want  you  to  go  back  to 
the  scene  of  the  quarrel.  At  the  time  you  were  stand 
ing  on  the  landing  and  you  saw  and  heard  everything 
that  was  done  and  said.  Did  you  know  what  the 
quarrel  was  about  ? " 

"Not  then.     No,  sir." 


214  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"Not  then — I  see.    -But  later  you  did?" 

"Later  my  father-in-law  told  me  that  it  was  because 
he  had  seen  the  item  in  the  paper." 

"The  item,  yes — we  have  that  here.  But  you  saw 
the  two  men  fight? — yes.  And  now  tell  me,  did  you 
hear  your  husband  say  anything  in  that  fight?  Begin 
at  the  beginning " 

"They  talked  so  low — and  so  fast "  Ellen  said, 

beginning  to  tremble,  "I  couldn't  hear  it  all.  But  I 
heard  Mr.  Josselyn  call  out:  'That's  a  deliberate  false 
hood!'  and  then  my  husband  said  that  he  could  not 
say  that  to  him 

"Didn't  he  say  Til  kill  you  if  you  say  that  again?" 
Ryan  suggested. 

"I  don't  think  he  said  that.     I  couldn't  say " 

"Exactly,"  Ryan  said.  "You  were  excited  and 
frightened  by  this  noise,  and  naturally  you  only  got 
a  vague  impression  of  it."  He  glanced  at  a  paper  be 
fore  him.  "Go  on,  Mrs.  Josselyn,  you  saw  the  blow 
struck?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  saw  Mr.  Josselyn  reach  for  the  paper- 
cutter,  and  I  screamed,  I  think." 

"Why  did  he  reach  for  it?     What  had  his  son  said ?" 

"He  said  Til  stop  you !'"  Ellen  began,  and  was 

silent. 

"He  was  terribly  excited  and  angry,"  Ryan  said 
quietly,  not  looking  at  her,  "and  he  shouted,  Til  stop 
you!'  What  else?" 

Ellen  glanced  at  George. 

"Why,  they  were  speaking  both  together — and  so 
fast "  she  began. 

"What  did  he  say  that  made  you  call  out,  'Oh,  no,  • 
Gibbsl'  or  'Oh,  don't,  Gibbs'!"  Ryan  asked. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  215 

"He  said  something  about  a  lie,"  Ellen  stam 
mered,  "he  said  he  would — he  said  his  father  was 
saying  things  that  weren't  so  and  that  he  would  kill 
him  if  he  went  on 

"I  see!"  Ryan  said  quietly,  glancing  toward  the 
stenographer  a  moment.  He  paused,  pursing  his  lips. 
"Well,  go  on.  You  said  something  about  the  senti 
mental  attachment  your  husband  had  conceived  for 
his  stepmother.  Did  that  worry  you  very  much?" 

"It  made  me  unhappy,  a  little,"  Ellen  said  simply. 
"  But  I  never  thought  anything  was  wrong.  I  told  my 
father-in-law  last  night  that  there  was  nothing  wrong," 
she  added  eagerly.  "  I  told  him  that  we  would  all  for 
get  it,  and  that  he  must  not  feel  too  badly  about  it." 

"Tell  us  again  what  happened  after  your  husband 
rushed  out?"  the  District  Attorney  said.  She  re 
peated  her  story,  attempting  to  use  the  same  language; 
she  had  quieted  the  old  man,  dined  with  him  and  her 
son,  taken  Tommy  up  to  bed,  come  back  to  say  good 
night  at  about  eight  o'clock,  and  talked  for  an  hour  or 
more  with  Lizzie,  and  then  sat  reading  until  she  retired 
at  eleven.  And  she  had  then  seen  the  study  light 
shining  on  the  corner  of  the  house. 

"So  that  your  father-in-law  was  up  at  that  time," 
Ryan  said.  "Now  then,  you  say  you  went  to  sleep. 
When  were  you  awakened,  and  by  what  ? " 

"I  waked  up,  and  found  my  husband  sitting  by  the 
fire,"  Ellen  said.  "It  was  two  o'clock." 

"It  was  two  o'clock.     And  you  and  he  had  a  talk?" 

"No,  we  didn't  talk.  He  said  that  he  was  going  to 
leave  the  house  in  the  morning,  and  I  agreed.  But 
We  didn't  say  anything  more." 

"How  did  his  manner  impress  you,  Mrs.  Josselyn?" 


216  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

Ellen  looked  at  George  again. 

"I  theught  he  was  still  terribly  shaken  over  his 
quarrel  with  his  father,"  she  said. 

"He  did  seem  shaken  and  excited?" 

"Yes.     I  thought  he  did." 

"You  didn't  tell  him  that  you  had  quieted  his  father, 
and  that  you  and  the  little  boy  had  cheered  him  up  so 
that  he  was  quite  himself  at  dinner?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Why  didn't  you,  Mrs.  Josselyn?" 

"Why,  I  thought — I  thought  he  would  be  less  trou 
bled  in  the  morning,  and  that  I  would  try  to — that  I 
would  talk  to  him  then." 

"You  would  try  to — will  you  tell  us  what  you  started 
to  say?" 

"Well — I  would  try  to — to  reconcile  them,  I  sup 
pose." 

Ryan  took  off  his  glasses  and  polished  them  with  a 
large  silk  handkerchief,  looking  at  them  the  while. 

"That  is,  you  thought  that  he  was  still  angry  rather 
than  sorry?"  he  asked. 

"No — I  can't  say  that  I  thought  that,"  Ellen  said, 
attempting  to  speak  firmly. 

The  glasses  went  on  again  and  Ryan  looked  at  her. 

"You  had  good  news  for  him,  you  know,"  he  re 
minded  her  kindly.  "You  had  to  tell  him  that  his 
father  was  sorry  for  the  trouble  and  willing  to  forgive 
and  forget.  Wouldn't  it  be  natural  to  suppose  that 
such  news  would  be  welcome  to  a  man  who  was  bitterly 
repentant  for  his  anger?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  Ellen  faltered. 

"  But  that  didn't  occur  to  you  ?  You  felt  that  he  was 
Still  too  enraged  to  be  approached  in  that  way?" 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  217 

Ellen  felt  suffocated.  The  close  room,  the  watching 
faces,  the  quiet,  merciless  voice  that  probed  her  very 
soul,  the  dark  walls  with  their  dignified  lining  of  books, 
the  windows  against  which  snow  was  beginning  to  fall 
softly,  all  began  to  waver  in  black  fog  before  her  eyes — 
she  felt  a  hideous  sensation  of  nausea. 

George  sprang  to  her  side,  and  she  caught  his  arm. 

"You're  all  right,  dear!"  he  said,  tenderly,  his  eyes 
close  to  hers.  She  looked  dazedly  into  them,  and 
spoke  in  a  childish  bewildered  voice: 

"Yes,  I'm  all  right,  George!" 

"Would  you  like  to  rest  a  few  minutes,  Ellen?" 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you!"  she  said  quickly.  And  turning 
back  with  great  dignity  to  the  District  Attorney,  she 
answered :  "  I  thought  I  would  not  distress  my  husband 
with  any  reference  to  the  matter  that  night.  I  thought 
sleep  would  do  us  all  good,  and  make  us  see  things  in  a 
better  light." 

"That  was  quite  natural,"  Ryan  said  mildly.  The 
tension  in  the  library  relaxed.  "That  is  all,  Mrs. 
Josselyn."  Some  of  the  men  rose;  there  was  a  little 
stir  and  confusion  in  the  room.  Ellen  went  out  with 
George.  She  turned  to  him  in  the  hall. 

"Was  that  all  right?"  she  asked,  giddy  and  uncer 
tain.  He  nodded  reassuringly.  They  went  into  the 
music  room,  where  Gibbs  sat,  with  Joe  and  Doctor 
Cutter.  There  was  a  tray  there  with  some  food  on  it, 
the  coffee  urn  was  steaming,  and  Ellen  was  glad  to  have 
a  cup  of  coffee :  it  was  two  o'clock.  She  felt  as  if  she 
could  never  get  enough  of  the  scalding,  reviving  drink, 
but  she  would  not  touch  the  solids,  although  Joe  brought 
her  cold  chicken  and  salad  on  a  plate,  and  coaxed  her 
to  eat. 


218  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

George  ate  heartily,  with  great  bites,  walking  about 
the  while,  and  talking  to  them  all.  After  a  few  minutes, 
however,  he  said  he  must  go  back  to  the  library,  and 
Gibbs  went  with  him.  Ellen  had  sat  down  close  to 
her  husband  on  the  wide  davenport,  and  put  her  cold 
little  hand  into  his.  He  was  pale,  and  looked  tired, 
but  there  was  a  new  look  of  peace  in  his  eyes. 

"Poor  little  old  girl,'*  he  said  to  her,  "I'll  get  you 
out  of  all  this,  and  carry  you  off  to  the  country  some 
where — and  make  it  all  up  to  you!" 

"Of  course  you  understand  that  this  is  a  sort  of  pre 
liminary  formality,  Gibbs?"  George  asked  him. 

"And  after  this,  does  the  coroner  bring  in  his  ver 
dict?"  Joe  added. 

"The  coroner  and  the  County  detectives  have  been 
all  over  the  study,"  George  said.  "The  circumstance 
of  the  pistol  being  found  seventeen  feet  away  from  the 
body,  and  some  other  details,  are  conclusive.  Death 
came  from  a  revolver  shot  that  was  fired  by  some  person 
or  persons  unknown.  Ryan  is  going  at  it  thoroughly: 
that's  his  business.  We've  had  all  the  maids  in,  they've 
all  satisfied  him  of  their  absolute  innocence.  Every 
one  of  them  has  an  alibi." 

"Then,  what's  all  this?"  Ellen  asked. 

"This  is  merely  one  of  the  District  Attorney's 
duties  of  office.  He  is  bound  to  find  out  what  he  can, 
while  the  whole  matter  is  fresh."  George  put  down  his 
coffee  cup,  and  threw  his  crumpled  napkin  on  the  tray. 
"You  understand  that  anything  you  say  now  may  be 
used  later,  Gibbs  ? "  he  said,  clearing  his  throat. 

"Perfectly." 

"They've  pretty  well  satisfied  themselves  as  to  the 
order  of  events,"  George  continued.  "What  they'll 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  219 

try  to  get  out  of  you  is  that  matter  of  where  you  were 
last  night?" 

"They  asked  Lizzie  where  she  was,  and  they  asked 
me!"  Ellen  said  eagerly. 

"They've  asked  everyone,"  George  assured  her. 

"I  can  only  tell  them  what  I  told  you  this  morning, 
George,"  Gibbs  said  calmly. 

George  shot  him  a  look,  but  nodded  as  if  he  were 
satisfied. 

"That's  all  right.     Shall  we  go?" 

They  went  off  together. 

Time  wore  slowly  on.  Ellen  and  Joe  talked  for 
awhile  in  low  tones,  the  snow  lisped  against  the  win 
dows  of  the  little  music  room.  One  of  the  maids  came 
to  say  in  a  hushed  voice  that  the  "men"  wanted  to 
speak  to  Mrs.  Josselyn,  and  Ellen  went  out  to  talk 
to  the  undertaker,  who  respectfully  wished  to  ask  for 
some  information.  Already  great  boxes  of  flowers 
had  begun  to  arrive,  and  motor-cars  were  wheeling 
about  the  drive,  making  brief  stops,  wheeling  away 
again.  Sophy  had  come  back  with  Louis,  the  second 
chauffeur,  and  a  dozen  boxes  were  piled  on  Ellen's 
bed.  Before  three  o'clock  the  first  reporter  appeared. 

When  Ellen  went  back  to  the  music  room,  Joe  told 
her  that  Lillian  had  been  fainting,  and  that  Doctor 
Cutter  was  with  her. 

"Did  you  know  that  she  went  off  with  that  man 
Pepper  for  dinner  last  night,  Ellen?"  he  asked. 

"Last  night!"  Ellen  echoed,  amazed. 

"Yes,  it  seems  that  she  wanted  to  see  Pepper,  or  he 
wanted  to  see  her — she  just  used  the  Pointdexter 
invitation  as  a  blind.  They  went  off  somewhere  for 


220  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

dinner,  the  'Wayside  Inn,'  it  was,  and  then  he  took  her 
to  Mrs.  Pointdexter's  house,  about  twelve." 

"How  did  you  know  this,  Joe?" 

"It's  Lillian's  alibi:  she  told  Ryan  the  whole  thing. 
Cutter  was  telling  me.  It  seems  that  they  were  there 
until  the  place  was  actually  closing,  talking.  Ryan 
has  sent  for  the  fellow  who  runs  the  Inn."  Joe  shook 
his  head,  half-smiled.  "Gosh,  she's  lucky!"  he  ejac 
ulated.  "She's  got  a  dozen  people  to  prove  what  she 
did,  she  wasn't  even  in  the  house  herself !" 

"Joe!"  Ellen  said  in  a  whisper.  "Where  was 
Gibbs  last  night?" 

"Oh,  don't  you  worry,  Ellen — he  can  clear  that  up, 
easy  enough!  These  things  always  sound  scary, 

and  then  they  all  smooth  right  out "  Joe's  tone 

brightened.  "Well! "he said.  " Ryan  dragged  in  Mrs. 
Pointdexter  who  came  over  here  with  Lillian.  She 
had  hysterics.  Ryan  told  her  that  they'd  have  to 
have  her  testimony  at  the  trial!" 

"There'll  be  a  trial,  Joe?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"But  won't  they  have  to  have  someone  suspected,  to 
try?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

Ellen  began  restlessly  to  pace  the  floor. 

"Lillian  and — that  man — might  have  come  here — 
in  the  night!"  she  said  feverishly. 

"They'll  have  to  account  for  every  second,  old  girl, 
you  may  be  sure  of  that!" 

"Or  it  might  have  been  a  burglar,  Joe?" 

"We-11,  they  say  not.  They  say  that  the  study  was 
lighted,  which  would  warn  any  burglar.  Then  it  was 
absolutely  inaccessible  by  window,  there  was  nothing 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  221 

of  value  there,  and  any  man  might  have  rifled  the 
house  without  disturbing  the  study.  But  more  than 
that,  Mr.  Josselyn  was  quietly  seated  in  his  chair, 
he  had  made  no  struggle,  you  know,  he  didn't  even  rise. 
Ryan  made  the  point  that  he  knew  the  man — or 
woman — who  fired  that  pistol." 

"He  knew  I"  Ellen  echoed,  with  white  lips.  She 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  her  brother  saw  a  violent 
shudder  shake  her  whole  body.  Suddenly  she  looked 
up  at  the  clock.  "Four  o'clock!"  she  said  feverishly. 
"Why  doesn't  he  come  out?" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

"Now  we've  been  questioning  the  girls  in  the  house, 
and  your  stepmother — and  your  wife,"  Ryan  said, 
casually,  arranging  papers  on  the  desk  before  him, 
and  glancing  now  and  then  at  Gibbs  as  he  did  so. 
"And  I  think  if  you  will  give  us  your  version  of  this 
affair,  Mr.  Josselyn •?" 

"Certainly!"  Gibbs  said,  sitting  back  in  his  chair, 
and  folding  his  arms.  As  Ellen  had  felt  the  unspoken 
friendliness  in  the  air,  so  Gibbs  was  instantly  aware  of 
an  antagonism;  as  Ellen  had  seen  that  they  sheltered 
and  favoured  her  in  their  questions,  so  Gibbs  saw  that 
he  was  not  to  be  spared.  The  District  Attorney, 
who  had  sold  papers  and  run  errands  for  a  living, 
twenty-five  years  ago,  when  little  Gibbs  Josselyn  was 
riding  his  pony,  and  having  his  beautiful  little  suits 
made  to  order,  was  not  apt  to  be  over-gentle  in  his 
dealings  with  a  rich  man's  son.  This  man  would 
inherit  a  fortune  from  the  silent,  waxen  hand  that  lay  still 
upstairs,  and  if  he  had  had  anything  to  do  with  the 
hideous  event  that  had  brought  him  to  that  fortune, 
Daniel  Ryan  was  not  the  man  to  spare  him. 

Gibbs's  face  was  white,  and  his  eyes  strained,  before 
the  quarrel  had  been  lived  and  re-lived  again.  He 
admitted  his  admiration  of  his  father's  wife,  admitted 
that  it  had  given  his  own  wife  and  his  father  some  con 
cern,  admitted  that  the  matter  had  caused  a  strained 
relationship  between  the  four.  He  did  not  glance 

Ml 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  223 

at    George:    his   eyes   were    fixed    upon   his   interro 
gator. 

"So  that  we  finally  have  these  facts  to  go  on," 
Ryan  summarized.  "You  and  your  father  quarrel 
about  your  relationship  with  this  lady,  your  father 
strikes  you,  and  you  threaten  to  kill  him.  You  leave 
the  house  in  anger,  and — I  beg  your  pardon?" 

"I  say  that  what  I  said  could  not  be  construed  into 
a  threat  to  kill  him,"  Gibbs  protested. 

"You  mean  that  you  phrased  it,  Til  kill  you  if 
you  say  that  again'?" 

"Yes,  I — I  don't  think  that  is  quite  the  same 
thing.  One  might  be  a  threat,  Mr.  Ryan,  and  the  other 
more  of  a — well,  more  of  a  boast,  or  of  a — a  silencer  that 
should  prove  effective,"  George  interposed  mildly. 

"I  see,"  Ryan  said  drily.  "Well!"  he  resumed, 
after  a  pause,  "you  leave  the  house  in  anger,  and  on 
foot.  A  few  hours  later,  presumably  between  the  hours 
of  nine  and  ten  o'clock,  somebody  familiar  with  this 
house  enters  the  room  your  father  is  sitting  in;  does 
not  alarm  him  enough  to  cause  him  to  leave  his  seat; 
goes  to  the  table-drawer  where  he  keeps  his  pistol; 
takes  it  out,  and  deliberately  kills  him.  Afterward 
throwing  the  pistol  into  a  basket  seventeen  feet  away. 
We've  cross-questioned  the  maids,  but  you  can  easily 
see  that  no  servant  could  do  that  without  instantly 
alarming  him.  More  than  that,  he  disliked  their 
coming  and  going,  and  would  have  questioned  any 
one  who  came  in.  We  know  that  pistol  was  in  the 
drawer,  because  your  wife  saw  it  there,  as  late  as  yes 
terday  morning,  in  the  hands  of  the  girl,  Lizzie.  Lizzie 
was  talking  with  your  wife  at  her  fire  until  after  ten 
o'clock,  undresses  and  goes  to  bed,  opening  the  com- 


224  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

municating  door  between  the  bathroom  and  bed 
rooms — you  know  what  they  were  talking  of,  and 
why  that  girl  had  nothing  in  her  mind  last  night  but 
her  own  happiness!  Mrs.  Josselyn  then  sits  on  by  the 
fire,  sees  that  Lizzie  is  asleep,  goes  to  bed  herself,  and 
sleeps  until  you  awaken  her,  in  what  she  describes  as 
an  excited  condition,  at  two  o'clock.  Those  facts  we 
have.  Now  perhaps  you'll  tell  us  just  where  you  were 
last  night  between  the  hours  of  eleven  minutes  past  six 
and  two  o'clock." 

"I'll  tell  you  as  well  as  I  can,"  Gibbs  said  simply, 
"I  went  first  to  the  club  where  I  sat  in  the  little  smoking 
room  for  a  long  time — more  than  an  hour.  Gettling, 
the  steward  there,  came  and  touched  me  on  the  arm, 
and  said  that  it  was  nearly  eight  o'clock,  and  asked  me 
to  dine." 

"You  had  had  nothing  to  eat?*' 

"Nothing." 

"Nor  to  drink?" 

"Yes,  I  had  had  a  whiskey-and-soda  when  I  went 
in,  and  then  later  another." 

"Ah!  And  did  you  drink  with  your  dinner?  Go 
on,  please,  just  as  the  events  transpired." 

"I  had  two  cocktails  before  my  dinner:  I  was  still 
upset  from  the  talk  with  my  father " 

"The  quarrel?" 

"The  quarrel,  yes.  I  didn't  eat — much.  I  may 
have  eaten  something,  but  I  am  not  sure.  I  went 
out " 

"What  time  was  this?" 

"Nine  o'clock,  I  should  say.  Gettling  would  re 
member  that,  because  he  followed  me  out  to  ask  me 
something  about  the  Hunt  Breakfast  on  Thanksgiving." 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  225 

"Will  you  get  hold  of  him?"  Ryan  asked  one  of  his 
men  in  an  undertone.  There  was  a  moment's  interrup 
tion  and  murmuring.  Then  Ryan  said:  "Excuse 
me.  Will  you  go  on?" 

"After  that  I  started  walking,  without  thinking  much 
where  I  was  going,"  Gibbs  said.  "It  was  dark,  but  not 
very  cold.  I  walked  a  long  way,  and  then  I  saw  the 
lights  of  the  'Wayside  Inn/  We'd  been  there  before, 
last  summer.  I  went  up  on  the  porch,  and  stood 
there,  looking  in." 

"Why  didn't  you  go  straight  in,  Mr.  Josselyn?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  think  I  wasn't  sure  that  I  wanted 
to  go  in." 

"You  walk — what  is  it — something  more  than  eight 
miles,  in  the  dark,"  commented  the  District  Attor 
ney,  "and  then  you  vacillate  about  going  in?" 

"I  remember  thinking  that  I  was  hungry,"  Gibbs 
went  on.  "But  they  were  dancing  in  there,  and  I 
didn't  feel  much  like  getting  into  a  dance." 

"But  you  did  go  in?" 

"No.  I  didn't.  While  I  was  standing  there  I 
recognized — I  recognized — friends — at  a  little  table 
right  near  the  window " 

"Friends?     Who  were  these  friends,  Mr.  Josselyn?" 

"That  I'd  rather  not  say,  really,"  Gibbs  said,  in  his 
old  autocratic  manner. 

"We've  had  Lillian's  story,  Gibbs,"  George  said,  in  a 
low  tone.  Gibbs  gave  him  a  quick,  startled  look:  the 
blood  mounted  to  his  face. 

"You  saw  Mrs.  Josselyn  and  her  lover,  eh?"  said 
Ryan. 

George  saw  the  muscles  of  Gibbs's  jaw  suddenly 
tighten. 


226  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"I  object  to  that  term,"  he  said  quietly. 

"We  needn't  mince  words,"  Ryan  said  sharply,  his 
eyes  narrowing.  "'Go  on  with  your  story.  You  went 
into  the  bar?" 

"I  did  not  go  in  at  all,"  Gibbs  reiterated. 

"But  somebody  saw  you  there?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of." 

"And  nobody  saw  you  on  ^our  way  there?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of." 

"You  turned  around,  and  walked  back?" 

"I  turned  around,  and  walked  back." 

"  Reaching  home " 

"Reaching  home  at  about  one  o'clock,  I  think.  I 
sat  by  the  fire  in  my  wife's  bedroom  for  awhile,  and 
she  woke  up.  We  had  a  short  conversation,  and  I 
told  her  that  I  proposed  to  leave  my  father's  house  the 
next  morning.  Then  I  went  to  bed." 

"One  moment,  Mr.  Josselyn.  On  that  walk  back — 
a  long  walk,  you  know,  for  a  man  alone  in  the  dark, 
you  must  have  passed  through  several  villages.  Didn't 
it  occur  to  you  to  stop  somewhere  else  for  food  ? " 

"I  don't  remember  thinking  of  food." 

"Yet  you  thought  of  food  when  you  reached  the 
'Wayside  Inn'?" 

Gibbs  was  silent. 

"How  do  you  account  for  the  fact  that  you  did  that  ?" 

"I  changed  my  mind,  I  suppose." 

"Exactly.  You  changed  your  mind.  But  do  you 
know  what  caused  you  to  change  your  mind?" 

Again  Gibbs  did  not  speak. 

"I  could  believe  that  to  a  man  in  your  excited  con 
dition  the  mere  sight  of  the  woman  he  loved  dining 
there  with  another  man  might  cause  a  decided  change 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  227 

of  mind,'*  the  District  Attorney  said  thoughtfully, 
making  a  series  of  hard  little  marks  with  his  pencil  on 
the  blotter  before  him,  and  finally  raising  his  head  to 
look  Gibbs  straight  in  the  eyes.  "  But  I  wish,  for  your 
own  sake,  Mr.  Josselyn,  that  you  could  find  someone 
to  confirm  this  rather  extraordinary  story.  Eight 
miles,"  he  added  musingly,  "well,  a  man  in  con 
dition  might  walk  that  far,  and  decide  not  to  eat  any 
thing,  and  walk  back — I  used  to  walk  once  myself, 
a  good  deal.  But —  He  pursed  his  lips  and  ele 

vated  his  eyebrows  with  the  shadow  of  a  shrug.  "One 
more  thing,"  he  asked,  in  a  dead  silence.  "You  did 
not  tell  your  wife  last  night  what  you  had  seen?" 

"That  I  had  seen  my  father's  wife  dining  with  Pep 
per?  No." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  her,  Mr.  Josselyn?" 

"Why — it  did  not  occur  to  me  to  do  so.  I  never 
have  discussed  the  matter  with  her." 

"Tell  me  just  what  you  mean  by  'the  matter'?" 

"The — the — anything  that  concerned  my  step 
mother,  I  suppose." 

"You  quarrel  with  your  father,  threaten  to  kill  him, 
leave  his  house,  over  this  very  man,  and  then  do  not 
consider  this  fresh  evidence  of  Mrs.  Thomas  Josselyn's 
relationship  with  Pepper  of  sufficient  importance  to 
tell  your  wife?  Didn't  it  occur  to  you  that  here  was 
an  absolute  refutation  of  your  father's  suspicions; 
suspicions  that  you  knew  were  shared  by  your  wife?" 

"No,  I  don't  remember  thinking  that,"  Gibbs  as 
serted  doggedly. 

"You  didn't  say  to  yourself:  'Here  is  an  excuse  for 
me — and  more  than  an  excuse!'  You  didn't  say  'my 
dear,  to  show  you  how  innocent  I  am  in  this  whole 


228  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

affair,  Lillian — or  whatever  you  call  her — and  Pepper 
were  dining  together  this  very  evening!" 

Gibbs  did  not  answer.  The  District  Attorney 
looked  at  him  dispassionately  a  few  minutes. 

"Well!"  he  said,  resuming  his  brisk  manner,  "it 
seems  to  me  that  that  would  have  been  a  natural  course, 
under  the  circumstances,  for  a  man  who  had  had  ex 
actly  your  experience.  You,  on  the  other  hand,  pro 
duce  this  story  only  after  you  have  had  a  conversation 
with  Mrs.  Thomas  Josselyn,  on  the  morning  following  the 
discovery  of  the  murder.  Nobody,  previous  to  the 
murder  nobody,  previous  to  the  finding  of  the  body, 
has  heard  of  this — this  sixteen-mile  walk,  I  believe?'* 

"I  have  told  you  that  I  did  not  mention  it  to  my 
wife,"  Gibbs  answered;  "I  saw  no  one  else." 

"I  should  like  to  call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that 
Mr.  Josselyn  was  unwilling  to  bring  his  stepmother's 
name  into  this  discussion  a  few  minutes  ago,"  George 
said  quietly.  "That  would  seem  to  me  to  indicate 
that  there  had  been  no  pre-arrangement  between  them." 

"Exactly,"  Ryan  said,  with  a  sharp  look.  "Thank 
you — I  think  that  is  all.  Oh,  one  moment.  When  you 
came  home  from  this  walk,  you  approached  the  house 
by  the  rear  road,  crossed  the  field  of  the  adjoining  prop 
erty,  entered  the  gate  on  the  tennis-court,  and  so  came 
around  the  west  face  of  the  house,  to  the  front  door?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"So  that,  by  a  really  circuitous  route,  you  did  not 
pass  the  lighted  study  window?" 

"Accidentally,  I  did  just  that." 

"Accidentally,  of  course.     Thank  you,  Mr.  Josselyn." 

Again  there  was  the  little  stir  of  men  changing  posi 
tion.  Gibbs  and  George  went  to  the  desk. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  229 

"I  will  make  it  my  business  to  look  up  those  matters 
you  called  to  my  attention,  Mr.  Ryan,"  George  said, 
in  a  business-like  tone,  "I'll  see  Mr.  Josselyn's  man  of 
business — find  out  if  there  was  anything  irregular, 
any  dispute  there.  There  was  one  point  I  would  like 
to  make  before  we  end  this  investigation:  is  it  possible 
that  Mr.  Josselyn  fell  asleep  in  his  chair,  and  was  shot 
in  that  state?" 

The  District  Attorney  nodded  thoughtfully.  He  had 
scored  steadily,  throughout  the  long  day,  but  he  was 
rasped  by  the  conviction  that  Gibbs  despised  him. 

"I  will  speak  to  Corrigan  about  it.  That  would  be 
an  important  point,  of  course."  He  glanced  at  the 
coroner,  who  had  risen,  and  was  standing  beside  him. 

"  Doctor  Cutter  spoke  of  that,"  the  man  said.  "  But 
it  is  impossible.  When  we  found  the  body  the  head 
was  sunk  forward,  exactly  like  a  man  asleep.  But  the 
bullet  could  not  have  entered  the  body  as  it  did  enter  it 
while  it  was  in  that  position.  Mr.  Josselyn  was  sitting 
erect  when  the  shot  was  fired,  and  his  assassin  must 
have  engaged  him  in  conversation,  holding  his  own 
hand,  with  the  revolver  in  it,  barely  above  the  level 
of  the  table." 

"I  see,"  George  said.  He  and  Ryan  fell  into  a  low- 
toned  conversation  at  one  of  the  windows.  All  over  the 
room  there  was  the  rustle  preceding  departure.  A 
deputy,  a  kind-faced  man  of  large  build,  would  remain 
in  the  house,  the  others  would  return  in  the  morning. 

Presently  George  and  Gibbs  went  back  to  the  music 
room,  and  Ellen  took  her  place  at  her  husband's  side 
again.  They  talked  a  little  of  the  funeral,  and  fell  silent. 
After  awhile  there  was  one  knock,  among  a  hundred 
knocks  upon  the  door,  to  announce  Mrs.  Pointdexter. 


230  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

The  lady,  pretty  and  agitated,  came  in.  She  was 
an  empty-headed,  babbling  little  woman,  with  a  rather 
scarred  record  behind  her.  She  said  that  it  had  been 
a  perfectly  terrible  day  for  poor  Lillian — wasn't  the 
whole  thing  too  awful  for  words?  She  said  that  she 
thought  Mr.  Josselyn  had  had  some  enemy  they  had 
never  heard  of.  Lillian  had  said  that  she,  May  Point- 
dexter,  was  an  angel  to  stay  with  her,  but,  my  goodness, 
wasn't  that  what  friendship  was  for? 

"I'm  going  to  have  some  dinner  sent  up,"  said  the 
visitor,  tenderly.  "She  hasn't  eaten  a  thing  all  day! 
We  made  her  try  on  some  of  her  things — it's  terrible, 
you  know,  but  you  have  to,  and  she  cried  as  if  her  heart 
would  break.  She  feels  so  terribly  about  having  been 
at  dinner  with  Lindsay  Pepper:  she  only  went  to  tell 
him  that  his  feeling  for  her  worried  her  husband,  and 
it  must  stop.  We  were  playing  cards,  just  at  twelve 
o'clock,  when  they  came  in.  And  isn't  it  strange  the 
way  things  come  out,  we  had  supper,  you  know,  and 
we  were  all  there  talking  until  after  two.  Mrs.  Jack 
Swift  was  there,  and  Bobby  Poett,  and  Bobby  left 
with  Lindsay,  and  spent  the  night  with  him.  And 
when  Lindsay  and  Bobby  got  to  Great  Neck,  he  had 
to  wake  up  the  Jap  to  fix  Bobby's  bed — so  that  he  can 
testify  that  they  were  there  at  just  half-past  two! 
Lillian  told  that  What's-his-name  in  the  library  all 
about  it.  But  isn't  it  all  simply  terrible?  I  telephoned 
my  husband,  and  he  said  'What  do  you  think?'  and  I 
said  'I  don't  know  what  to  think!'", 

Mrs.  Pointdexter  flashed  her  bright,  restless  eyes 
from  one  face  to  another  in  turn.  Nobody  else  spoke. 

"Keno  kept  coming  to  say  that  there  were  reporters 
downstairs,"  she  went  on  presently.  "But  I  said  that 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  231 

poor  Lillian  couldn't  see  a  soul.  I  told  them  that  the 
Kellogg  Galleries  had  her  picture:  I  suppose  every 
paper  will  have  to  have  a  picture,  and  you  might  as 
well  be  polite  to  them!  But  isn't  it  all  terrible:  I 
don't  know  when  I've  had  such  a  shock  in  my  life!" 

"My  God,  that  girl  is  having  an  enjoyable  time!" 
George  ejaculated  sourly,  when  the  visitor  had  gone 
upstairs  again. 

Ellen  looked  at  him.  A  dimple  appeared  in  her  tired 
little  face,  her  lips  trembled.  Then  the  muscles  of  her 
face  began  to  work  suddenly,  she  laughed  in  a  high 
key,  and  broke  into  hysterical  weeping,  with  her  head 
on  her  husband's  shoulder. 


CHAPTER  XV 

AFTER  the  quiet  funeral,  when  the  Josselyn  family 
had  run  the  gauntlet  of  a  hundred  reporters  and  pho 
tographers,  and  were  back  in  the  "Villino  dell'  Orto" 
again,  Joe  came  upstairs  to  find  his  sister.  Ellen  was 
in  her  room;  she  had  taken  off  her  black  hat  with  its 
crisp,  hanging  veil,  but  her  soft  hair  was  still  crushed 
from  its  weight.  It  was  two  o'clock,  and  a  low  table 
had  been  drawn  before  her  fire,  and  spread  with  tea- 
things. 

"Come  in,  Joe,"  his  sister  said,  when  he  knocked. 
"And  will  you  have  some  tea?"  she  added,  with  a 
shadow  of  her  old  smile.  "I  know  you  didn't  have 
any  lunch,  like  the  rest  of  us." 

"How  do  you  feel,  dear?"  he  asked,  taking  the  offered 
cup. 

"Oh — fine!"  She  blinked  back  the  too-ready  tears, 
and  controlled  the  trembling  of  her  mouth.  "T-t-tiring 
day!"  she  added,  unsteadily. 

"Awful  day.  Listen,  Sis,"  Joe's  tone  suddenly 
changed  and  became  firm,  "I  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
something!  Gosh,  those  are  good!"  he  interrupted 
himself  to  say,  in  reference  to  the  tea-biscuit  he  was 
devouring.  "Where's  Gibbs?  Has  he  had  anything 
to  eat?" 

"Why,  it  was  for  Gibbs  that  I  asked  them  to  bring 
this  up,"  Ellen  answered.  "But  before  it  came, 
George  had  called  him  away.  There's  so  much  to 

232 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  233 

attend  to — so  many  different  things.     Joe,  did  you 
hear  anything  more  about  the  Bridgeport  position?" 

"Well,  that's  what  I  meant  to  speak  to  you  about, 
Ellen.  I  had  a  letter  from  this  fellow  Mainwaring, 
yesterday.  They'll  give  it  to  me.  In  fact,  they  wanted 
me  to-day :  but  of  course  I  couldn't  go.  I  can't  get  there 
until  to-morrow  morning." 

"You  are  going,  then,  Joe?" 

"I  think  so."  He  sighed,  rubbed  his  hair  boyishly 
with  his  hand.  "I  saw  Harriet,"  he  added  suddenly, 
"and  I  think  she's  satisfied  to  have  it  this  way.  Mr. 
Lathrop  was  a  king  about  it,  and  he  said  that  I  should 
stay  where  I  am.  But  I  got  this  job  through  him,  yon 
know,  and  I  didn't  feel  comfortable  keeping  it  now— fc 
when  I've  been  a  disappointment  and  a  trouble  to  you 
all.  So  I'll  go  to  Bridgeport." 

"You've  never  been  a  trouble  and  a  disappointment 
to  me,"  Ellen  said  tenderly.  "You're  doing  a  splendid 
thing " 

"No,  I'm  not!"  he  interrupted  her  gruffly.  "Aunt 
Elsie  was  telling  me  this  morning  that  I'm  none  too 
good  for  Lizzie — that  Lizzie  is  this  and  that " 

"Aunt  Elsie  will  feel  far  fonder  of  Lizzie  than  she 
ever  would  of  any  other  girl,"  Ellen  smiled.  "Of 
course  she  doesn't  know " 

"Nobody  knows!"  he  interrupted.  "Nobody  ever 
will." 

Ellen  looked  with  pity  at  the  clouded  face :  Joe  seemed 
so  young,  so  much  a  boy  to  face  these  grave  realities. 

"So  you  go  to  Bridgeport?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  rousing  himself  from  his  brooding. 
"And,  Ellen,  I  think  Lizzie  and  I  will  be  married,  and 
she'll  go  with  me." 


234  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 


"  Married ! "  she  echoed.     "  But  when,  Joe  ? " 

"Well "     He  hesitated.     "To-night,  I  think." 

"To-night!" 

"I  guess  so." 

"But,  dearest  boy!  Don't  you  have  to  have  a 
license  and  things?" 

"I've  got  them.  Her  mother  and  father  will  be 
there,  and  Aunt  Elsie.  That's  all." 

"But  Joe— so  quickly!"  Ellen  mused.  "After  all, 
perhaps  it's  the  wisest  thing,"  she  conceded.  "I'll  try 
to-morrow  to  get  someone  else  for  Tommy." 

"I  was  going  to  speak  to  you  about  that,  Sis.  Why 
can't  we  take  Tommy?  You'll  have  your  hands 
full 

She  turned  deathly  white,  and  leaned  back  in  her 
chair  with  closed  eyes. 

"I  don't  mean  that!"  he  exclaimed,  quickly.  "Ah, 
pull  yourself  together,  dear  old  girl!" 

"I  know  what  you  meant!"  she  said,  in  a  whisper. 
And  opening  her  eyes,  she  leaned  toward  him,  and 
laid  an  icy  hand  on  his  hand.  "Oh,  Joe — I  know  it, 
I  know  it!"  she  exclaimed,  in  an  agony.  "Every  time 
I  look  into  his  face,  I  know  it's  coming — and  I  can't 
do  anything!  I  can't  do  anything!  Oh,  Joe — if  it 
comes  to  that,  I  can't  bear  it!  I  can't  go  through  with 
it!  I  can't  have  them  questioning — and  questioning — 
and  that  horrible  Ryan  with  his  horrible  politeness! 
Joe,  you  don't  know  how  happy  we  were  in  Paris — 
never  a  cloud — we  didn't  want  more  money — we  could 
have  been  happy  with  less!  And  to  have  deliberately 
come  back  here,  to  all  the  wretchedness  of  this  house — 
and  now  to  this !  Joe,  you  don't  know  how  proud  he  is 
— it  will  kill  him.  And  it  wasn't  anger  that  Gibbs 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  235 

felt  that  night — not  all  anger,  anyway.  It  was  shame 
— I  know  him  so  well! — it  was  shame  that  part  of  what 
his  father  said  was  true!  He  couldn't  bear  it!" 

Ellen  had  gotten  to  her  feet :  she  began  to  walk  about 
the  room,  wringing  her  hands,  and  pressing  her  locked 
fingers  against  her  lips  like  a  person  in  pain. 

"Oh,  I  know  what  you've  all  been  waiting  for — 
these  days ! "  she  said,  in  her  whisper  of  anguish.  "  I've 
seen  it  in  George's  face — I  know  why  you  want  to  take 
Tommy  away  from  it  all!  I  know  that  Gibbs  has  ex 
pected  it:  we've  been  together  for  three  days  now, 
Joe,  we've  sat  for  hours,  with  my  hand  in  his — not  saying 
a  word." 

She  came  back  to  the  fireplace.  Joe  had  risen,  too, 
and  was  watching  her  with  a  distressed  face.  She 
laid  her  hands  on  his  shoulders,  and  looked  with  wild 
appeal  into  his  eyes. 

"Joe!"  she  faltered,  almost  inaudibly,  "I  lie  awake, 
at  night,  racking  my  brains — and  there's  nobody  else! 
They  can't  find  anybody  else!  But,  Joe,  if  he  did  do  it 
— if  his  father,  in  that  cool,  smiling  way  of  his " 

"Look  here,  Ellen!"  Joe  said  bluntly,  "Fm  sur 
prised  at  you.  Gibbs  is  going  to  depend  on  you  now 
as  he  never  did  in  his  life  before,  and  here  you  are  skip 
ping  your  meals,  lying  awake  nights,  and  getting  hys 
terical!  My  God,  Sis,  you'll  do  him  much  more  harm 
than  good  this  way." 

"Yes,  I  know!"  Ellen  said  quickly.  "But,  Joe, 
she  added,  "I  keep  thinking  that  that  Ryan  will  ask 
me — ask  me  outright  what  I  think,  and  what  can  I 
say?  I  can't '* 

"Now,  listen,  Ellen,"  he  interrupted  firmly.  "In 
the  first  place,  he  never  will  ask  you  what  you  think. 


236  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

He'll  simply  ask  you  what  you  did,  or  said,  or  heard 
said:  he  may  not  put  you  on  the  stand  at  all.  Look 
how  easily  they  let  Lizzie  off.  He  asked  her  what  she 
was  doing  with  the  pistol — she  said  that  she  had  had  a 
quarrel  with  the  young  man  sjie  was  engaged  to — 
he  went  right  on  to  the  next  question.  Now  just  calm 
down.  Take  things  easily.  And  you  let  us  have 
Tommy.  Lizzie  adores  the  kid — we  both  do.  And 
he'll  be  out  of  the  way  of  the  whole  thing!" 

"I'll  try,  Joe,"  she  said  humbly. 

"You'll  do  it,  if  you  try,"  Joe  answered  bracingly. 
"And,  Ellen — if  this  thing  should  come  to  a  trial — just 
put  yourself  into  training.  Make  yourself  eat,  go  to 
bed  early,  read  books,  keep  up  your  appearance — all 
those  things  help.  If  you're  well  bodily,  it  goes  a  long 
way  to  keeping  well  in  your  mind.  Get  me?" 

"I  get  you!"  she  smiled,  a  little  sadly,  as  she  re 
turned  his  kiss.  "And  you  may  be  married  to-night?" 

"Will  be!" 

"It  seems  so  strange,  Joe."  She  went  with  him  to 
the  door  of  her  room.  "Not  what  I  thought  my  little 
brother's  wedding  day  would  be!"  she  said. 

"Nor  I,"  he  answered  gravely.  She  thought  he 
looked  all  a  boy  as  he  walked  away,  and  turned  at  the 
stairhead  to  wave  his  hand  to  her. 

A  few  minutes  later  Gibbs  came  up,  and  Ellen  lighted 
the  flame  under  the  spirit-lamp,  and  made  him  fresh 
tea.  He  looked  tired  and  ill,  but ,  he  smiled  at  her 
gratefully  as  she  gave  him  the  smoking  cup. 

"It  won't  last  long  now,  Ellen,"  he  said,  refusing 
the  food  she  offered  him,  "but  coming  back  for  more 
tea.  "Poor  George  is  down  there  in  a  bunch  of  re- 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  237 

porters:  I  don't  know  whether  you  noticed  the  way 
the  cameras  were  lined  up  when  we  went  out  this 
morning?  They're  like  a  pack  of  wolves.'* 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  but  he  did  not  seem 
to  hear  it.  He  had  dropped  his  handsome  head 
against  the  chair-back,  and  closed  his  dark,  shadow- 
rimmed  eyes.  "It  will  seem  good  to  get  out  of  this, 
and  get  the  little  scout  again,  and  go  off  out  of  the 
range  of  newspapers  and  cameras,  won't  it?"  he 
asked. 

"Oh,  Gibbs!"  Ellen's  utmost  resolution  was  un 
equal  to  the  task  of  keeping  tears  from  her  eyes. 

"I  was  thinking  we  might  take  the  roadster,'*  he 
added,  "and  go  south — Florida,  maybe,  or  Atlanta. 
We  wouldn't  need  anything  but  the  motor-trunk, 
,and  you  could  take  care  of  the  boy — he  ought  to  be 
dressing  himself  now!" 

"He  does,  Gibbs — you'd  be  surprised  to  see  how  fast 
he  is  learning.  He'll  be  six  next  month,  you  know!" 
Ellen's  colour  rushed  up,  the  vision  of  escape  from  all 
this  horror  had  set  her  blood  to  dancing.  The  open 
road  again,  Gibbs  and  Tommy,  meals  here  and  there 
and  everywhere 

Another  knock  at  the  door.  Gibbs  heard  this  one, 
and  turned  questioning  eyes  toward  it. 

"  Stay  where  you  are ! "  Ellen  commanded.  She  went 
to  the  door.  Gibbs  heard  one  whispered  word  of 
protest  and  horror,  and  got  to  his  feet,  the  colour 
draining  from  his  face.  He  saw  George's  grave  face, 
and  another  face  or  two  in  the  background.  In  the 
foreground,  their  eyes  sweeping  the  room  quickly,  were 
two  blue-coated  officers. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  trial  of  Thomas  Gibbs  Josselyn  for  the  murder 
of  his  father  was  naturally  the  journalistic  tidbit 
of  the  day.  No  element  of  the  picturesque  and  drama 
tic  was  lacking,  and  the  features  of  the  suspected  man, 
with  his  mop  of  silver  hair,  the  beautiful  face  of  the 
woman  who  had  caused  all  this  misery,  the  old  vic 
tim's  dignified  and  handsome  person,  and  the  piquant 
and  pathetic  little  figure  of  the  prisoner's  wife  all  be 
came  familiar  visions  at  millions  of  breakfast  tables. 
The  social  standing  of  the  family,  the  mystery  sur 
rounding  the  murder,  the  odd  relationship  of  the  man 
and  the  two  women,  all  these  things  were  incalculably 
valuable  to  city  editors  everywhere. 

Presently  the  will  of  the  murdered  man  was  filed, 
and  caused  its  own  sensation.  After  the  bequests  to 
servants  and  charities,  and  the  gifts  to  old  friends, 
the  widow  was  to  have  her  handsome  allowance,  pay 
able  unless  she  remarried,  throughout  her  life,  besides 
her  country  home  at  Wheatley  Hills,  and  all  it  con 
tained.  To  the  son  certain  books  and  specified  silver 
and  jewels  were  bequeathed,  and  a  moderate  sum  was  to 
be  held  in  trust  for  the  little  grandson. 

All  the  rest  went  to  the  daughter-in-law.  More 
than  that,  should  Lillian  remarry,  she  was  to  be  given 
a  lump  sum,  the  remainder  of  her  fortune  to  revert  to 
Ellen.  Ellen  heard  it  all  vaguely:  she  was  not  thinking 
of  money  in  these  days.  She  did  not  read  the  papers 

238 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  239 

that  shrieked  between  the  two  oceans  that  old  Thomas 
Josselyn  had  trusted  her  above  his  wife  or  his  son. 

She  did  not  know  that  under  all  her  suavity  and  poise 
Lillian  was  furious,  and  had  threatened  to  break  the 
will.  Dissuaded  from  this  folly,  the  beautiful  widow 
had  been  so  indiscreet  as  to  drop  a  hint  to  Ellen's 
attorney. 

"Did  you  know  that  Lillian  said  to  me  that  she  was 
surprised  that  the  fact  that  you  benefited  so  tremen 
dously  by  the  will  had  not  been  thought  of  as  a  motive 
for  the  tragedy?"  George  asked  her,  with  a  dry 
smile,  one  day. 

"Did  she  say  that?  She  talks  a  great  deal,  it  seems 
to  me,"  Ellen  answered  indifferently.  George  had 
come  in  to  the  Port  Washington  house,  to  discuss  some 
question,  and  he  and  she  were  standing  together  at  the 
little  six-paned  front  window  that  looked  out  into 
Main  Street.  For  a  few  moments  her  eyes  idly  followed 
the  progress  of  a  lumbering  delivery-van  down  the 
snowy  street,  then  she  turned  to  him  with  sudden  life 
in  her  eyes.  "George!"  she  exclaimed:  "is  there  any 
chance  of  their  suspecting  me!  Wouldn't  that  be  a 
motive  ? " 

"Do  you  mean  you  want  to  be  suspected,  Ellen?" 

"Ah,  if  they  would!"  she  said  feverishly.  "Because 
I  know  I  didn't  do  it "  she  added,  in  a  whisper. 

The  trial  was  set  for  the  first  week  of  the  new  year, 
And  to  Gibbs  and  to  Ellen  as  well,  much  as  she  had 
dreaded  it,  it  came  as  a  relief.  She  had  visited  him 
every  day,  in  his  cell  at  the  Mineola  jail,  and  what 
those  visits  had  cost  her,  only  Ellen  knew. 

Every  day  she  must  nerve  herself  afresh  to  enter  into 


240  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

the  stale,  cold  air,  and  pass  the  clanking  doors 
the  watching  eyes.  She  must  nerve  herself  afresh  for 
the  sight  of  him,  thin,  despondent,  dishonoured. 
She  must  breathe  the  suffocating  moral  atmosphere  that 
surrounds  the  offenders,  the  human  who  is  felt  by  other 
humans  to  be  dangerous.  She  must  talk  to  him,  and 
yet  not  talk  of  the  hideous  cloud  that  pressed  so  close 
over  him,  and  the  hideous  weight  on  their  hearts  that 
made  them  both  afraid  they  would  go  mad. 

Physically,  he  was  not  uncomfortable.  Ellen 
brought  him  what  she  could  in  the  way  of  comfort. 
He  often  told  her  that  he  had  enjoyed  his  dinner, 
that  he  had  slept  well.  But  sometimes  they  sat  for 
long  periods  together  without  speaking.  Of  what 
could  she  speak  to  him  now?  Of  the  free  hills  under 
the  snows,  of  the  operas  they  might  have  been  attend 
ing,  of  the  little  son  who  had  been  taken  away  for  fear 
he  might  hear  his  father's  name? 

She  kept  him  supplied  with  books,  and  sometimes 
made  him  read  aloud  to  her.  George  was  often  with 
him,  full  of  confidence  and  courage. 

Empty  as  they  were,  these  hours  at  the  jail  were 
Ellen's  life.  Otherwise  she  was  hardly  conscious  that 
she  lived  at  all.  She  sat  by  the  fire  with  her  aunt,  in 
the  evening,  talking  with  the  busy,  kindly  woman  and 
the  old  Captain,  but  not  knowing  what  she  said. 
She  wrote  her  nightly  letter  to  Joe  or  Lizzie,  with  a 
scalloped  kiss  for  the  boy,  and  went  early  to  bed. 
Ellen's  old  bedroom  had  been  turned  into  a  bathroom 
years  ago,  and  there  were  electric  lights  all  over  the 
house.  But  she  had  her  old  bed,  and  her  old  bureau 
where  she  had  put  the  celluloid  mirror  covered  with 
pink  roses  and  forget-me-nots  that  Leonard  Henshaw 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  £41 

had  given  her  one  Christmas,  years  ago.  And  she 
had  the  old  painting  of  a  bare-legged  little  girl  with 
netted  hair  and  scalloped  skirt,  crossing  a  rocky  creek. 
Len  had  married  Willa,  and  their  pretty  home  was  up  in 
the  "Estates."  They  had  worked  and  planned  for 
every  brick  of  it.  Willa  had  three  lovely  children  now, 
and  a  rattling  little  motor-car  in  which  she  brought 
them  down  to  market,  and  sometimes  a  girl  to  help  her. 
Ellen  did  not  know  it,  but  Willa  had  envied  Ellen 
Latimer  all  her  life. 

She  rose  early,  and  joined  the  old  people  at  break 
fast.  Then  she  aired  her  room,  and  made  her  bed,  and 
by  that  time  the  little  closed  car  was  at  the  door,  with 
Torrens  at  the  wheel.  Closely  veiled,  although  she 
was  really  indifferent  to  staring  eyes  and  snapping 
cameras,  she  slipped  into  the  car,  and  was  on  her  way 
to  Gibbs. 

Sometimes  alone,  or  with  George,  she  lunched  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  jail,  and  went  back  to  it  imme 
diately;  sometimes  Torrens  took  her  into  the  city,  to 
slip  like  a  little  ghost  into  the  shops,  and  get  something 
Gibbs  wanted,  or  she  fancied  he  might  like.  Always 
she  saw  her  husband  twice  a  day,  and  was  back  in 
Port  Washington  in  time  to  read  the  paper  to  the  old 
Captain  before  dinner. 

Mary  Cutter,  the  doctor's  lovely  daughter-in-law, 
had  taken  it  upon  herself  to  befriend  Ellen,  and  during 
these  terrible  days  she  never  failed  her.  Sometimes 
she  came  in  her  own  car,  with  a  fat  sweet  baby  as 
escort,  to  take  Ellen  home  from  Mineola,  and  on 
Christmas  Eve  she  got  out  at  the  old  house  with 
Ellen,  and  dined  with  Captain  Latimer  and  his  family, 


242  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

and  kept  them  all  talking.  Later  the  junior  doctor 
and  his  boys  came  for  her,  leaving  a  great  mass  of 
holly  in  the  house,  with  a  breath  of  cold,  sweet,  holiday 
air. 

And  when  the  trial  began,  Mary  was  always  at 
Ellen's  side.  George  called  at  the  Main  Street  house 
on  the  first  morning,  and  Mary  met  them  at  the  court 
house.  Ellen  was  extremely  nervous,  and  gave  them 
only  absent  answers.  She  was  unable  to  believe  that 
the  long-awaited  hour  had  come  at  last. 

There  was  already  a  crowd  on  the  court-house  steps: 
it  was  a  bitter  morning,  the  huddled  men  and  women, 
and  the  policemen  who  were  keeping  order,  smoked 
at  the  mouth.  George  took  the  two  women  quickly 
in  at  a  side  door,  they  had  hardly  time  to  be  conscious 
of  staring  eyes.  The  bare  passages  were  comfortably 
warm;  a  murmured  word  here  and  there  gave  them  im 
mediate  entrance  to  the  room  where  Gibbs  was  waiting. 
Ellen  and  her  husband  had  time  only  for  a  few  words: 
confused  words  of  hope  and  courage.  Then  George 
called  one  of  his  clerks  and  bade  him  take  the  women 
to  the  court-room. 

Ellen  had  never  been  in  a  court-room  before,  but 
she  said  to  herself:  "That's  the  jury-box — that's  the 
witness  stand,"  even  with  her  first  quick  glance. 

Reporters  were  already  scribbling  at  a  long,  bare 
table.  Several  favoured  spectators  had  secured  good 
seats.  There  were  round-backed  chairs  inside  the 
railing  which  divided  the  big  room  in  two.  Ellen 
and  Mary  were  placed  in  two  of  these  chairs.  Mary 
realized,  from  the  sudden  murmur  and  whisper  in 
the  room,  that  they  were  identified.  Ellen  realized 
nothing. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  243 

George  came  in,  talking  in  an  undertone  with  his 
associate.  He  nodded  reassuringly  to  Ellen.  She 
hardly  saw  him,  and  hardly  heard  him  when  he  stopped 
beside  her  and  commented  in  some  distress  upon  her 
quick  breathing.  She  assured  him  that  she  would  be 
quite  herself  again  presently.  When  he  went  away 
again,  and  disappeared  through  one  of  the  doors  behind 
the  Judge's  bench,  she  saw  Ryan  come  in. 

He  was  flushed,  smiling,  talking  emphatically  to  a 
man  who  accompanied  him.  His  hands  were  full  of 
papers.  He  had  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  breakfasted 
well,  and  who  was  full  of  confidence.  Ellen  felt  a  wave 
of  sheer  hate  shake  her.  How  free  he  was;  how  com 
fortably  ready  for  the  day's  work!  And  Gibbs — • 
Gibbs  would  come  in  between  two  guards 

"This  is  merely  the  panelling  of  the  jury,"  George 
had  told  them,  "it  may  take  several  days.  It's  a  long, 
stupid  business." 

Long  or  stupid,  it  had  to  do  with  the  Josselyn  case, 
and  the  seats  behind  the  railing  were  all  packed  now. 
There  was  some  bustling  and  whispering,  and  even  sub 
dued  laughter.  Men  continued  to  move  busily  back 
and  forth  on  the  platform,  and  spoke  in  undertones. 
Mary  saw  a  newspaper  artist  squinting  as  he  made  a 
quick  sketch  of  the  prisoner's  wife. 

With  a  great  stirring  and  murmuring  in  the  room, 
Gibbs  came  in,  with  a  court  officer.  He  was  pale, 
but  seemed  neither  self-conscious  nor  nervous,  as  he 
came  quickly  to  his  seat  at  the  end  of  one  of  the 
tables.  George  was  seated  at  this  table,  and  imme 
diately  leaned  toward  Gibbs,  engaging  him  for  a  moment 
in  conversation.  Presently  Gibbs  nodded  consent  or 
approval,  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 


244  JOSSELYN'S  TVIFE 

Then  he  saw  Ellen,  who  was  only  ten  feet  away, 
and  who  sent  him  a  brave  smile.  A  score  of  reporters 
pencilled  busily:  "Prisoner  Smiles  at  Wife."  But 
Ellen's  heart  was  torn  within  her.  Gibbs,  with  that 
little  new  droop  to  his  broad  shoulders,  a  spectacle  foi! 
this  staring  roomful! 

Everybody  rose,  and  she  rose,  too,  dizzily.  The 
clock  was  on  the  stroke  of  ten,  and  His  Honour  came 
promptly  and  quietly  through  a  door  at  the  back,  to  his 
large  chair.  A  clerk  leaned  over  him  to  murmur  some 
message:  he  nodded  quickly;  the  clerk  went  out.  The 
case  of  the  State  versus  Thomas  Gibbs  Josselyn  was 
called. 

Droning  voices  rose  and  fell;  Ellen,  from  tense  and 
jealous  attention  to  every  possible  talesman,  felt 
her  thoughts  wander.  She  looked  at  Gibbs,  who  was 
sitting  with  folded  arms,  gravely  listening  and  staring 
straight  ahead  of  him.  She  looked  wistfully  at  the 
Judge,  and  thought  that  he  had  a  wise  and  kind  face.. 
Her  eyes  fell  upon  Ryan,  and  again  a  sensation  of  hate 
made  her  heart  sick. 

George  was  suddenly  upon  his  feet.  Ellen's  heart 
jumped  as  she  heard  him  rap  out  some  objection. 
The  old  Judge,  deep  in  some  papers,  looked  mildly 
over  his  glasses. 

"Sustained!"  he  said  mechanically.  George,  with 
a  contented  nod,  sat  down.  Ryan  went  on  questioning 
the  candidate. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  rustle  of  adjournment.  The 
Judge  rose  and  quitted  the  court-room.  Men  began  to 
walk  in  every  direction,  voices  were  raised.  Ellen  was 
amazed  to  see  that  the  clock  showed  the  time  to  be 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  245 

twenty  minutes  of  one.  The  court  emptied  quickly, 
and  Ellen  and  Mary  went  to  the  Garden  City  Hotel, 
where  they  had  luncheon  upstairs,  and  where  George 
presently  joined  them.  George  was  reassuring.  He 
said  that  Gibbs  felt  a  real  relief  to  have  the  waiting 
over,  and  regaled  them  with  tales  of  juries  and  judges 
while  they  ate.  Ellen  had  the  lack  of  appetite,  and 
the  deep  thirst,  of  burning  excitement,  but  she  did  her 
best  to  eat. 

For  days  the  panelling  of  the  jury  dragged  on,  and' 
the  long  hours  in  the  court-room  were  wearisome  and 
uneventful.  Then  suddenly  there  was  a  full  jury, 
and  the  trial  began.  Ellen  was  dazed  by  the  pre 
liminaries,  and  the  cross-questioning  seemed  to  her 
singularly  irrelevant.  Doctors  were  asserting  that 
Thomas  Josselyn  had  died  from  the  effect  of  a  pistol 
wound  in  the  breast:  there  was  endless  medical  testH 
mony  to  prove  the  hour  of  the  murder.  George 
would  ask  an  apparently  unimportant  question,  and 
nodding,  sit  down.  'The  District  Attorney  would 
jump  up  with  another,  leading  nowhere,  as  far  as 
Ellen  could  see.  Between  George  and  Ryan  there 
was  a  running  fire  of  hot  words.  Ellen  was  amazed  to 
see  them  speak  civilly  to  each  other  the  moment 
Court  adjourned.  At  luncheon  she  would  eagerly  ques 
tion  George  as  to  the  significance  of  this  point  or  that. 

"It's  all  going  well,"  said  George  the  second  day. 
"I'm  satisfied  that  we're  gaining  ground." 

"I  noticed  that  the  Court  ruled  every  time  in  our 
favour,"  Mary  said  eagerly.  George  nodded,  but  Ellen 
did  not  know  until  long  afterward  that  this  was  an 
ominous  sign. 


246  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"We'll  have  Florence  on  the  stand  this  afternoon,"* 
he  said.  "To  make  the  point  that  Mr.  Josselyn  was 
so  little  distressed  and  apprehensive,  after  the  quarrel, 
that  he  talked  cheerfully  to  Ellen  here,  and  Tommy, 
at  dinner!" 

"And  so  he  did!"  Ellen  said  eagerly. 

"Well,  we'll  go  back,"  George  said,  rising  from  the 
table.  "The  press  men  are  anxious  to  have  a  word  with 
you,  Ellen,  and  I  think  perhaps  you  might  as  well  speak 
to  them — I'll  arrange  it.  Just  as  well  to  have  them 
friendly.  All  you  need  say  is  that  you  are  confident 
of  the  outcome — something  like  that. " 

"Anything!"  she  agreed  quickly.  And  clinging  to 
his  arm,  she  looked  up  into  his  face.  "George,"  she 
said,  breathing  fast,  "I'm  frightened  now!  The — the 
law  frightens  me.  I  was  looking  at  Gibbs  this  morning, 
and  thinking  that  Torrens  and  the  car  were  just  out 
side,  and  that  we  had  all  the  money  in  the  world,  and 
yet  that  I  couldn't — I  couldn't  go  up  to  him  and  say: 
'Come  on,  Gibbs,  let  it  all  go — come  home  with  me!' — 
That  no  power  on  earth  could  do  that  now!" 

"Why,  you  mustn't  let  the  atmosphere  of  the  Court 
get  on  your  nerves,"  he  soothed  her.  "Just  say  to 
yourself  that  those  fellows  are  good  enough  at  heart — 
they're  only  doing  what  they're  paid  to  do — 

"Not  that  Ryan!"  she  shuddered. 

"Ryan?     He's  a  decent  enough  fellow,  Ellen." 

"But,  George — he's  determined  to — to  convict 
Gibbs!" 

"Well,  but  that's  his  business,  my  dear.  He's 
obliged  to  take  that  side." 

"Oh,  my  God,  I  think  that  is  terrible!"  Ellen  said, 
"I  don't  see  how  a  decent  man  could  do  it!" 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  247 

The  trial  lasted  for  only  a  day  less  than  three  weeks. 
Ellen  had  moved  her  place  to  Gibbs's  side,  and  although 
they  rarely  spoke,  she  knew  he  was  as  much  comforted 
as  she  was  by  this  arrangement.  Day  after  day  the 
papers  described  the  tall,  haggard  man,  with  his  sombre 
eyes  and  silver  hair,  and  the  silent,  black-clad  little 
wife,  always  at  his  side,  her  blue  Irish  eyes  jealously 
following  every  word  that  was  said  to  convict  him  or 
acquit  him. 

For  two  days,  cruel  and  exhausting  days,  she  was  on 
the  stand.  Mary  Cutter  and  George  Lathrop  were 
amazed  at  the  courage  and  strength  she  found  for  the 
ordeal.  She  had  promised  them  she  would  not  break 
down,  but  she  did  for  a  moment,  when  Tommy's  name 
was  mentioned.  And  perhaps  that  moment,  when  the 
sensitive  mouth  quivered,  and  the  blue  eyes  brimmed 
with  tears,  was  as  favourable  to  Gibbs's  cause  as  any 
logic  or  any  eloquence  could  have  been. 

For  it  slowly  became  evident  that  no  eloquence  and 
no  logic  could  avail  in  defense  of  a  man,  young  and  rich 
and  handsome,  who  had  turned  from  this  devoted  little 
wife  to  another  woman,  who  had  quarrelled  with  the 
generous  father  who  was  that  other  woman's  husband, 
who  had  threatened  and  brooded  over  the  quarrel. 

Day  after  day  the  net  tightened  about  him.  Ellen, 
listening  and  watching,  sometimes  felt  as  if  she  were 
in  an  oppressive  dream.  Oh,  it  could  not  be  Gibbs 
who  was  trapped  here;  it  could  not  be  Tommy's  father 
who  was  the  chief  figure  in  one  of  the  sensational  murder 
trials  of  the  day! 

"George — I  keep  thinking — if  we  could  only  have 
the  trial  all  over  again!"  she  said  feverishly,  more  than 
once.  "I  can't  believe  that  it's  gotten — gotten  so  far!" 


248  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"My  dear  girl,  this  is  only  the  beginning  of  the 
fight!"  George  would  answer  cheerfully.  But  she 
knew  him  too  well  to  be  heartened  by  his  confident 
manner. 

On  the  afternoon  before  the  final  summing-up,  when 
all  the  testimony  was  in,  and  it  remained  only  for  the 
prisoner's  counsel  and  the  District  Attorney  to  present 
to  the  jury  their  versions  of  the  case,  Ellen  was  spending 
an  hour  with  Gibbs.  As  usual,  she  had  come  to  him 
after  the  Court  adjourned,  forcing  herself  to  speak  of 
the  little  incidents  of  the  day,  and  to  construe  them  as 
encouraging.  Gibbs,  who  usually  made  some  effort 
to  second  her  in  this  forlorn  bravery,  was  nervous  and 
despondent  to-day,  and  looked  ill.  His  months  of 
confinement  and  mental  distress  had  affected  his  con 
stitution,  and  a  poor  appetite  and  wakeful  nights  had 
added  to  the  misery  of  his  situation. 

"I  jump  from  one  extreme  to  the  other,  Ellen,"  he 
told  her.  "Sometimes  I  think  they'll  bring  in  a  verdict 
of  guilty — plain  and  flat.  And — it's  funny! — but  I 
don't  worry  about  the  far  future,  the  sentence,  you 
know,  and  all  that.  But,  by  God,  I  feel  that  if  I  have 
to  come  back  here  to  this  room,  and  have  those  accursed 
men  walk  me  back  and  forth  any  longer,  I  can't — I 
can't  bear  it !  And  then  sometimes,  I  let  myself  think 
that  all  this  has  impressed  them  more  favourably  than 
we — than  we  fear,  you  know,  and  that  I'll  walk  out  of 
the  room  a  free  man — with  my  girl  on  my  arm " 

His  voice  broke,  and  Ellen  burst  into  bitter  sobbing. 
He  put  his  arms  about  her,  and  kissed  the  top  of  her 
soft  hair. 

"Look here,  dear,"  he  said,  after  awhile,  "I  want  to 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  249 

talk  to  you  for  a  few  minutes.  We  don't  know  what's 
ahead  of  us,  and  I  want  to  say  this  while  I  have  a  chance. 
To-morrow  night  we  may  be  separated — oh,  I  know 
George  talks  of  a  new  trial,  and  all  that,  but  I'll  feel 
happier  if  we've  had  this  talk." 

They  sat  down  on  the  bed,  side  by  side,  and  he  locked 
his  arm  about  her. 

"One  thing  I  want  to  say  is  this,"  Gibbs  said,  slowly, 
"I  wasn't  a  good  husband  to  you,  this  last  year,  but  it 
was  only  that  I  was  a  fool,  Ellen.  I  never  was  untrue 
to  you  even  in  my  thoughts." 

"I  know  it!"  she  said  fervently,  raising  her  wet  eyes 
to  meet  his.  "Oh,  Gibbs,  my  own  sweetheart,"  she 
burst  out,  her  eyes  brimming  again,  "what  haven't  you 
given  me  ? — a  little  country  girl  who  never  had  anything 
in  her  life  until  you  came  along!  Paris,  and  my  boy, 
and  my  little  girl — and  your  love,  Gibbs,  that  made  life 
seem  a  miracle  to  me !" 

"Don't  cry,  Ellen,"  he  pleaded,  and  she  made  herself 
be  calm  again. 

"There's  one  thing  more  I  want  to  say,"  Gibbs  said. 
He  got  up  and  walked  about  the  little  room,  Ellen 
watching  him  distressedly.  Suddenly  she  got  up,  and 
he  stopped  his  restless  pacing,  and  stood  looking  down 
at  her  with  a  shadow  of  his  old  smile.  "I  want  you 
to  remember  this,"  he  said,  "and  when  you  tell  the 
boy  about  it,  tell  him  this,  too.  I've  no  reason  to  lie 
to  you,  Ellen,  and  what  I'm  telling  you  I  say  as  if  I 
were  a — a  dying  man.  It  may  be  my  last  talk  with 
you,  and  I  think — I  think  of  that,  when  I  say  it.  I 
think  of  what  you  have  done  for  me,  and  of  what  you 
are  to  me.  By  my  mother's  memory,  Ellen,  and  by 
the  memory  of  the  little  girl — we  named  for  her! — 


250  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

/  never  fired  that  shot.  I  never  had  my  hand  on  that 
revolver  in  my  life!" 

For  a  minute  she  stared  at  him  without  a  change  of 
expression.  Then  he  saw  an  extraordinary  look  almost 
of  madness  come  into  her  eyes,  and  saw  her  breast 
rise  with  one  great  breath.  She  had  been  ghastly 
pale  to-day,  had  seemed  at  the  limit  of  her  strength. 
But  now  the  colour  flooded  her  face.  She  made  an 
effort  to  speak,  with  dry  lips,  and  failed,  made  a  second, 
and  succeeded. 

"Gibbs!"  she  stammered,  in  a  whisper.  "You — 
you!"  Her  voice  failed  her,  and  she  made  a  gesture 
as  if  for  air,  still  clinging  tightly  to  his  arm,  which  she 
had  grasped  when  first  he  spoke.  "You  say  you 

didn't !"  Ellen  whispered,  with  a  sudden  pitiful 

trembling  of  her  lips.  "But,  Gibbs — but,  Gibbs — why 
didn't  you  tell  me  so  before?"  And  suddenly  she 
slipped  to  her  knees,  and  he  felt  her  face,  streaming  with 
tears,  pressed  against  his  hands.  "Oh,  my  God,  I 
thank  Thee!"  he  heard  her  sob.  "Oh,  my  God,  I  thank 
Thee!" 

A  second  later  she  was  upon  her  feet,  pressing  against 
him  as  she  clasped  his  hands,  and  looked  with  wet  eyes 
into  his  face.  She  was  trying  to  laugh  through  the 
sobs  that  racked  her.  » 

"You  didn't  do  it — my  darling!"  she  said,  again  and 
again.  "You  didn't  do  it — I  always  knew  that  you 
didn't!" 

"But,  Ellen,"  he  said,  holding  her  tightly,  and  almost 
dazed  by  her  vehemence,  "you  didn't  think  that  I  did 
it,  dear?" 

"No,  I  didn't  think  so!"  she  said,  sobbing  more 
quietly,  and  interrupting  herself  to  laugh,  and  to  press 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  251 

her  wet  face  against  his  for  one  of  her  quick  kisses. 
"  But,  Gibbs,  I've  thirsted  so  to  have  you  tell  me  just 
that — I  needed  your  word  to  help  me!  I  felt  as  if  I 
was  all  alone!  Now — now  it'll  all  be  so  different! 

I  don't  mind  anything,  now.  I "  She  laughed 

again,  broke  into  quick  tears,  and  buried  her  face 
against  his  shoulder.  "I'm  so  happy!"  she  sobbed. 
"L-l-let  me  cry,  Gibbs.  I'm  crying  because  I  feel  s<^ 
much  happier ! " 

Abruptly  she  stopped.  A  bewildered  look  was  in 
her  eyes  as  she  drew  herself  away  from  him,  and  faced 
him,  still  holding  his  arms.  She  stared  blankly  at 
him  for  a  moment;  then  the  clear  brows  met  in  a  puzzled 
frown. 

" Gibbs,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper,  "who  did  do  it?" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WHO  did  do  it?  The  question  burned  like  a  fever 
in  Ellen's  veins,  and  her  passionate  determination  to 
answer  it  swept  all  lesser  consideration  from  her  mind. 
George,  amazed  at  her  sudden  energy  and  vitality, 
could  only  be  glad  that  this  unexpected  stimulus  had 
come  to  her  at  this  particular  time.  Her  whole  manner 
changed :  her  air  in  the  court-room  was  newly  dignified 
and  resolute,  and  although  her  devotion  to  Gibbs  had 
never  failed  him,  she  poured  into  it  now  so  convincing 
a  flood  of  hope  and  determination  that  she  could  not 
but  affect  him.  Her  attitude  to  him,  George  and 
Mary  to  a  great  degree,  and  the  world  to  a  lesser  one, 
found  infinitely  touching  and  wonderful. 

She  could  face  anything  now.  Somebody,  other 
than  Gibbs,  had  fired  that  shot.  And  she  was  Gibbs's 
wife,  and  she  was  free  to  search,  and  hunt,  and  study 
the  strange  facts  surrounding  old  Thomas  Josselyn's 
death,  until  somehow,  somewhere,  her  hand  fell  upon  the 
thread  that  should  lead  her  to  the  truth.  Her  simple 
faith  that  the  truth  must  come  to  light  helped  them  all. 

It  helped  her  through  the  dark  hours  when,  still 
heartsick  over  the  bitter  arraignment  of  the  District 
Attorney,  and  exhausted  after  the  strain  of  the  last 
terrible  weeks,  she  and  George  and  Gibbs  sat  waiting, 
hour  after  hour,  for  the  verdict.  The  five  hours  had 
seemed  as  many  years  to  Ellen,  but  she  never  lost  her 
newer,  deeper  hope  for  the  future. 

252 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  253 

George  had  warned  them  what  to  expect;  every  event 
of  the  trial  had  warned  them.  Ellen  knew  that  George 
was  already  desperately  seeking  for  some  technicality 
upon  which  to  demand  a  new  trial. 

"If  we  could  find  someone  who  saw  Gibbs  on  that 
walk  that  night!"  George  said. 

"  We  will ! "  Ellen  assured  him  confidently.  "  Gibbs," 
she  added,  tightening  the  hand  that  lay  over  his  own, 
"don't  you  feel  it?  Don't  you  know  that  you  and 
I  will  look  back  at  this  sometime  as  a  dark,  hideous 
dream?  I  know  it!" 

And  yet  she  had  turned  dizzy  when  an  officer  coming 
quietly  to  the  door  cell  announced  that  the  jury  had 
found  a  verdict.  She  put  her  hand  on  Gibbs's  shoulder, 
and  raised  her  ashen  face  for  his  kiss.  They  had  time 
for  no  words,  even  if  there  had  been  words  to  say. 
Blindly  Ellen  followed  George  to  the  court-room.  With 
quick  efficiency  the  officials  were  filling  their  places. 
The  faithful  newspaper  men,  their  dinners  left  to  cool, 
hurried  in. 

It  was  seven  o'clock;  the  cold  February  dark  had 
closed  down  hours  ago.  The  court-room  was  brightly 
lighted,  and  warm.  His  Honour,  who  had  also  been 
dining,  came  in.  He  had  addressed  this  same  jury 
in  his  kind,  wise  voice  five  hours  ago.  After  Ryan's 
furious  tones  he  had  seemed  all  temperance  and  justice 
to  Ellen.  He  had  advised  them  that  the  killing  of  a 
human  being  when  committed  from  a  deliberate  and 
premeditated  design  is  murder  in  the  first  degree; 
when  committed  with  design,  but  without  deliberation 
or  premeditation,  is  murder  in  the  second  degree;  any 
other  homicide  is  manslaughter  in  one  of  its  degrees. 
These  degrees,  his  cool  voice  had  continued,  were  two: 


254  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

excusable  homicide,  from  accident,  or  justifiable  homi 
cide,  in  self-defense.  He  had  charged  them  that  if 
there  was  a  reasonable  doubt  as  to  whether  the  crime 
of  murder  in  the  first  degree  had  been  committed,  they 
were  in  duty  bound  to  give  the  prisoner  the  benefit 
of  that  doubt,  and  to  find  for  murder  in  the  second 
degree,  or  manslaughter. 

Now  the  old  man  looked  benignly  over  his  glasses' 
at  the  twelve  tired  men  who  filed  back  into  the  box. 
And  Ellen  looked  from  face  to  face  with  agonized  sur 
mise. 

The  blow  fell  with  merciful  quickness.  It  was  only 
a  few  minutes  before  the  whole  thing  was  over.  Gibbs 
preserved  the  quiet  dignity  of  manner  that  had  marked 
him  all  through  the  trial.  If  a  sickening  fear  of  the 
future  swept  over  him  he  gave  no  sign  of  it.  He  looked 
with  concern  toward  his  wife,  but  Ellen  had  mercifully 
lost  consciousness,  and  had  quietly  dropped  against 
George's  shoulder. 

She  recovered  immediately,  and  they  saw  Gibbu 
again:  a  criminal  now,  convicted  of  murder  in  the  second 
degree.  All  the  freedom  of  their  recent  intercourse 
would  be  ended,  she  had  foreseen  that.  What  else 
had  she  foreseen  ?  The  indignities  of  shaven  head  and 
striped  clothes,  the  filth  and  ugliness  of  the  prison, 
the  locked  cell  door,  the  terrible  atmosphere  that 
surrounds  men  for  whom  there  is  no  place  in  the  green 
world ! 

But  she  came  up  to  him  smiling. , 

"We  expected  that,  Sweetheart,  didn't  we?  It 
doesn't  matter.  You  didn't  do  it,  and  it  will  all  come 
right  some  day.  Try  not  to  think  of  it  now — think  of 
the  time  to  come.  Just  lift  yourself  out  of  all  this " 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  255 

"Oh,  we'll  make  a  fight  of  it!"  George  added.  Im 
mediately  afterward  he  took  Ellen  away. 

They  went  to  the  Port  Washington  house,  and 
George  came  in  to  talk  to  her  aunt  and  grandfather. 
Ellen  hardly  spoke.  She  went  to  the  door,  to  say 
good-night  to  him,  and  thank  him.  He  thought  she 
looked  ill. 

But  she  was  in  her  place  in  the  court-room  a  few 
days  later  when  Thomas  Gibbs  Josselyn  was  sentenced 
to  penal  servitude  for  the  term  of  his  natural  life,  for 
the  peculiarly  atrocious  crime  of  murdering  his  own 
father. 

"And  somehow,  one  lives  through  it  all,  George," 
Gibbs  said  later.  He  was  behind  bars  now,  but  aston 
ishingly  serene  and  strong.  He  was  nervously  anxious 
to  have  the  events  of  the  next  week  over,  when  he  should 
be  transferred  to  the  big  prison.  "I  want  you  to  take 
Tommy,  and  get  away  from  all  this,  Ellen,"  he  said, 
firmly.  "Write  me,  and  send  me  pictures " 

"Oh,  Gibbs—  — !"  she  whispered,  with  a  sudden 
stoppage  of  breath. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  he  said  quickly,  sympathetic  for  her 
distress.  "But  you  must  remember  this.  If  I  can 
think  of  you,  living  quietly  somewhere,  not  too  un 
happy,  it's  going  to  brace  me.  I'm  not  any  better 
than  lots  of  other  fellows  who  have  been  up  against  it,  < 
Ellen.  And  if,  as  you  say,  something  new  comes  to 
light,  why  then  we'll  be  glad  we  faced  the  music  with 
some — some  decency,  don't  you  see?  Now  take  her 
away,  George.  I  don't  like  her  to  be  here." 

"I  have  never  seen  a  man  change  as  Gibbs  has 
changed,"  George  said,  as  they  drove  home.  "I  am 
amazed  at  him.  Always  fastidious,  exacting,  auto- 


256  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

cratic — he's  got  a  new  viewpoint  now.  Well,  now, 
we've  got  to  do  our  share.  We  mustn't  lose  heart. 
The  game  isn't  up  yet,  by  a  good  deal." 

Like  Gibbs,  Ellen  was  impatient  to  have  these  few 
days  over.  She  knew  that  she  would  be  strong  to  face 
the  hard  stretch  beyond  them,  when,  alone  and  dis 
heartened,  she  must  take  up  her  fight  for  his  liberty 
and  his  name.  But  she  could  not  gauge  her  present 
strength  for  the  hideous  ordeal  of  parting  with  him, 
and  of  having  Tommy  say  good-bye  to  his  father.  Her 
soul  shrank  from  the  mere  thought,  and  she  dreaded  a 
breakdown  on  her  part,  or  on  Gibbs's,  that  should  undo 
them  all. 

Lizzie  had  written  her  every  day:  of  the  pretty  house 
they  had  found  in  Bridgeport,  of  the  walks  and  talks 
she  had  with  Tommy,  and  of  Joe  and  his  new  work. 
These  letters  at  first  had  been  ungrammatical,  and  full 
of  errors  in  spelling,  but  presently  Ellen  noticed  a 
great  improvement.  Lizzie  had  hit  upon  the  heroic 
expedient  of  asking  Joe  to  correct  them  for  her.  Ellen 
looked  for  them  eagerly.  The  little  stories  of  Tommy, 
the  assurance  that  he  was  well  and  happy,  the  pictures 
of  a  well-capped  and  wrapped  Tommy  playing  in  a 
glitter  of  snow,  were  an  interest  for  Gibbs  as  well  as 
herself. 

She  tried  to  visualize  the  home:  Lizzie  silent,  always 
busy,  Joe  coming  in  tired  and  hungry,  to  romp  with  the 
inexhaustible  nephew.  New  work,  new  scenes,  a  new 
family,  how  were  these  affecting  the  little  brother? 
Between  the  lines  she  could  read  that  the  human  lives, 
so  suddenly  uprooted,  had  not  yet  found  their  new  soU 
kindly. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  257 

"Joe  works  almost  every  evening,"  wrote  Lizzie,  in 
a  letter  not  corrected  by  Joe,  "and  he  takes  Tommy 
out  with  him  on  Sunday.  He  always  asks  me  will  I 
go,  too,  but  I  feel  so  badly  about  his  having  me  always 
to  think  about  that  sometimes  I  don't  go.  Now  that 
I  am  married,  I  can  see  that  I  should  never  have  let 
him  talk  me  into  it,  for  he  is  lonely  here.  But  perhaps 
it  is  partly  worry  about  you,  for  we  can't  think  of 
nothing  else  but  that. 

"He  eats  well,  and  so  does  Tommy.  And  Tommy 
is  so  old-fashioned  that  he  is  like  having  a  grown  person 
to  talk  to.  I  don't  know  what  I  would  do  without  him. 
He  says  to  tell  you  he  made  a  chocolate  custard,  and 
Uncle  Joe  bought  him  a  bow  and  arrows." 

Joe  never  wrote,  but  both  Joe  and  Lizzie  brought 
Tommy  to  Port  Washington  in  answer  to  Ellen's  wire 
a  day  after  the  sentence  had  been  pronounced.  The 
child  looked  rosy  and  well,  and  leaped  into  his  mother's 
arms,  instantly  distracted  from  his  first  embraces  by 
her  unfamiliar  clothing. 

"Why  'j'buy  all  black  things,  Mother?" 

"Because  Grandpa  is  dead,  Sweetheart." 

"Grandpa  is!"  he  ejaculated.  He  pointed  to  the  old 
Captain  in  the  adjoining  room.  "There's  Grandpa!" 

"Dad's  father,  Tom.  You  remember  Grandpa 
Josselyn,  with  the  gold  glasses?" 

"Is  he  dead?"  said  the  child,  in  a  sweet,  incurious 
voice. 

"You  start  your  stumps  out  here,  Tom,  and  come 
and  eat  something!"  Aunt  Elsie  said  from  the  doorway. 
"It's  a  long  trip,  for  a  child,  and  lunch  or  no  lunch,  I 
should  think  you'd  both  like  some  milk  and  ginger 
bread  to  stay  your  stomachs.  How  are  you,  Lizzie?" 


258  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

i . 

i    "Oh,   I'm   fine!"   Lizzie,  who  looked  badly,   said 

mildly. 

"Is  she  really?"  Ellen  asked,  when  the  old  woman 
had  taken  Tommy  and  Lizzie  into  the  kitchen.  -  "I've 
been  wondering.  It  seems  ages  since  we  talked  to 
gether,  Joe.  I  would  have  gone  to  the  city,  to  meet  you 

and  Tom,  but  I'm  such  a  target  now "     She  sighed 

wearily.     "I  hate  it  all  so!     But  tell  me  about  Lizzie." 

"She's  all  right."  He  smiled,  ruefully.  "She's  a 
sad  little  thing!" 

"Sad?" 

"Yep.  She  cries,  and  she's  sorry  she's  wrecked  my 
life:  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"And  do  you  feel  your  life  wrecked,  Joe  ? "  Ellen  asked 
with  a  great  ache  at  her  heart  for  his  quiet,  hopeless 
tone. 

"Oh,  no!"  he  said  impatiently  and  gruffly.  "What's 
the  difference,  anyway?" 

"Joe,"  Ellen  said  hesitatingly.     "I'm — sorry." 

"I'm  sorry  for  the  whole  thing,"  he  echoed.  "It's 
a  rotten  morality  that  makes  a  girl  feel  that  there's  no 
going  back.  No  matter  how  sorry,  and  how  good,  she 
is,  there's  always  the  feeling — why,  Ellen,  I  know  re 
spectable  girls  in  this  town  that  aren't  fit  to  tie  Lizzie's 
shoes!  Girls  clever  enough  to  make  their  bargains  in 
cold  blood — so  much  loving  for  a  ring  and  an  income 
for  life!  Lizzie's  a  loving  little  thing — she  was  starved 
for  someone  to  really  care  for — she  reached  out  for 
love  the  way  a  scared  kid  might  reach  out  for  a  kitten ! 
And  now  she'll  never  feel  herself  quite  like  the  others  "- 
he  gave  his  sister  a  dubious  smile — "she  hasn't  let  me 
put  my  arm  about  her!"  he  confided. 

"Hasn't!"  she  echoed,  amazed. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  259 

"No."  Joe  smiled,  got  to  his  feet,  and  sighed. 
"It's  a  fine  old  world!"  he  remarked  drily.  And  then 
with  an  abrupt  change  of  subject:  "I'm  so  sorry  for 
all  this,  Sis.  I  wish  to  God  I  could  spare  you  this 
afternoon.  When  do  we  go?" 

"George  calls  at  three,"  she  answered  quietly.  "I 
think  I  can  get  through  it  thinking  of  Gibbs.  I'm 
praying — I'm  praying — that  I  can!  It's  the  last  pull, 
you  know — and  after  this — after  this  I  can  faint  or  be 
sick  or  do  anything  else,  for  awhile!" 

Wearily,  she  turned  to  go  upstairs  with  Lizzie  and 
Tommy.  Tommy  was  to  lie  down  and  have  a  favour 
ite  book  read  to  him  for  an  hour:  the  little  boy  was  pre 
sumably  tired  from  his  trip.  Ellen  left  him  when 
George  arrived,  and  came  downstairs. 

George,  coming  in  at  the  hall  door,  and  Joe,  who 
opened  it  to  him,  and  Aunt  Elsie,  who  came  to  the 
dining-room  door  to  greet  him,  looked  at  her  in  amaze 
ment  and  vague  alarm.  Her  face  was  pale,  she  was 
breathing  hard,  and  there  was  a  strange,  feverish 
glitter  in  her  blue  eyes;  she  made  a  wild  gesture  that 
detained  them  all,  and  caught  George  by  the  wrist. 
He  was  instantly  given  the  impression  of  exhaustion, 
of  desperate  determination  to  say  what  must  be  said, 
before  the  collapse. 

To  Ellen  the  air  seemed  suddenly  thick  and  soft:  she 
felt  it  pressing  against  her. 

"No — wait  a  minute,  Auntie! — George — and  Joe, 
too — come  in  here — don't  go!"  she  stammered.  She 
half-dragged,  half-led  them  into  the  little  parlour. 
"All  stay,"  she  said  in  a  dry  whisper.  Joe  had  run 
for  a  glass  of  water,  and  now  knelt  beside  the  chair  into 
which  George  had  put  her,  and  held  it  to  her  lips. 


260  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"Thanks,  dear,"  she  whispered.  Her  eyes  moved 
about  from  face  to  face,  and  her  lips  moved  drily. 
Then  suddenly  she  made  a  great  struggle,  as  if  for 
air. 

"My  God,  she's  dying!"  Mrs.  Baldwin  exclaimed. 
But  Ellen  herself  answered  her: 

"No,  Auntie — no,  I'm  all  right!"  And  tightening 
one  hand  on  Joe's,  and  with  the  other  clinging  to 
George,  she  said  at  last:  "I've  found  out  who  did  it, 
George!  I  know  who  fired  that  shot!" 

A  silence  spread  like  a  fog  over  the  little  sitting  room. 
They  all  looked  at  her  without  speaking. 

"I'll  tell  you  about  it "  Ellen  said,  after  another 

drink  of  water.  "It  happened — I  mean  my  learning 
about  it — half  an  hour  ago.  But  I  didn't  dare  do 
anything  until  George  got  here."  She  had  so  far  re 
covered  her  composure  that  she  could  rise  now,  and  she 
spoke  in  an  almost  normal  tone.  "George,"  she  said, 
"I  want  you  to  sit  here,  and  Joe  and  Auntie,  will  you 
go  into  the  back  room:  just  behind  the  curtains,  so 
that  you  can  hear  everything?"  And,  as  they  be- 
wilderedly  but  eagerly  obeyed  her  instructions,  she 
stepped  to  the  hall  door,  and  called  "Lizzie!" 

Immediately  Lizzie  came  downstairs,  as  white  as 
Ellen  was,  with  Tommy  clinging  to  her  hand.  The 
little  boy  came  running  in  to  his  mother,  and  Ellen 
caught  him  in  her  arms. 

"Here's  Uncle  George,  dear!"  she  said.  Tommy 
indifferently  felt  himself  drawn  between  the  man's 
knees.  George  looked  dazedly  at  Ellen.  "Now, 
Tom,"  his  mother  said  casually,  "I  want  you  to  do 
something  for  me.  And  if  you  do  it  nicely,  I'm  going 
to  read  to  you  for — one — whole — hour — to-night!" 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  261 

"Will  you  really,  Moth'?"  Tommy  asked,  his 
eyes  dancing. 

"Yes,  I  truly  will.  Tommy,  I  want  you  to  tell 
Uncle  George  about  that  night  at  Wheatley  Hills, 
when  you  came  down — you  know — tell  him  all  about 
it!" 

Tommy  was  looking  at  her  with  a  guilty  child's  doubt 
of  his  reception. 

"Grandpa  told  me  to!"  he  asserted,  in  self-defense. 
"I  was  a  captain,  and  he  told  me  to!" 

George  glanced  at  Ellen :  they  exchanged  one  look. 

"I  was  telling  Tommy  a  little  about  the  reason  why 
we  left  Wheatley  Hills,"  Ellen  explained.  "And 
he  told  me  why  he  liked  Wheatley  Hills.  Go  on, 
dear." 

Tommy,  encircled  by  George's  arm,  had  his  mouth 
close  to  the  man's  ear.  He  spoke  in  a  half-proud,  half- 
shamed  voice. 

"I  said  I  was  sorry  about  Grandpa,  because  I  liked 
to  play  in  his  study!  And  I  said  he  let  me  fire  his 
pistol." 

Again  the  man  and  woman  exchanged  a  look  of 
consternation. 

"Come!  A  kid  like  you  couldn't  fire  a  real  pistol," 
George  said  scorfingly. 

"Well,  I  did  fire  it!"  Tommy  burst  out  boastfully. 
"With  two  fingers  on  the  trigger!  I  said  I  was  a  cap 
tain  and  he  said  I  oughtenter  be  afraid  of  my  gun.  I 
fired  it  two  times.  He  told  me  to!"  Tommy  illus 
trated  with  a  dramatic  gesture. 

Ellen  saw  George  swallow,  with  a  dry  throat.  She 
heard  him  whisper  "My  God!" 

"But,  Tom — how's  that?    You  mean  to  tell  me  you 


262  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

fired  the  revolver  like  that  about  the  room  ? ''  he  asked 
the  child. 

"Well-a,"  Tommy  stammered,  "it  never  went  off  those 
first  two  times;  it  didn't  make  any  noise.  And  he 
said  'Good  boy,  old  Tommy!" 

Ellen  caught  a  quick  breath.  She  had  heard  him 
call  the  child  that  a  hundred  times. 

"He  said,  'Good  boy!'"  George  repeated,  "and  then 
you  pointed  it  at  him?" 

"No,  then  he  told  me  about  spies.  He  told  me  all 
about  them.  And  then  I  said,  'If  you  were  a  spy,  Grand 
pa,  I'd  fix  you!'  And  he  said,  'All  right.  I'm  a  spy. 
I  surrender/  And  he  said  to  me  I  must  say,  'Have  you 

anything  to  say  for — that ,"  Tommy  stumbled, 

"Why  he  shouldn't  be  shot,  you  know,"  he  explained. 

"I  see,"  George  said,  glancing  at  Ellen. 

"So  I  said  that,  and  he  said  no,  he  didn't  have,  and 
I  took  the  pistol  again  and  shot  at  him.  But  that 
time,"  Tommy  went  on  serenely,  "It  did  go  off!  I 
thought  it  had  burst.  And  some  smoke  came  out. 
And  Grandpa  sat — like  this " 

He  dropped  into  a  chair  in  terrible  verisimilitude  to  the 
still  form  they  had  found  in  the  study,  three  months  ago. 
Ellen  glanced  again  at  George:  he  was  as  pale  as  she. 

"And  then  what,  Tom?" 

"Then  I  went  over  to  him,  and  shook  his  arm,  and  he 
didn't  wake  up.  I  thought  he  was  fooling.  And  I 
took  the  pistol  and  threw  it  away  in  the  basket.  I  said: 
'Grandpa,  please  wake  up!'  but  he  wouldn't.  So  I  ran 
to  the  door  and  called  for  Lizzie.  - 1  called  seventy  or 
twenty-five  times,  I  guess." 

"I  see.  I  see,  of  course,  but  tell  me,"  said  George- 
"where  was  Lizzie?" 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  263 

"Why,  she  was  up  in  Mother's  room.  I  wasn't  sure 
that  Grandpa  was  fooling,  though  maybe  he  was.  I 
was  afraid  purraps  I'd  hurt  him " 

"Then  why  didn't  you  run  and  tell  your  mother  at 
once  if  you  thought  so  ? " 

"Well-a,  I  didn't  think  I  could  have  hurt  him  much 
because  he  didn't  say  'Ouch'  or  anything,"  Tommy 
elucidated  cheerfully.  "And  then  I  thought  maybe 
Lizzie  would  be  cross  at  me  for  getting  out  of  bed." 

"Getting  out  of  bed?" 

"Yes,  when  I  went  downstairs.  She  said  she'd  tell 
my  father  if  I  did  it  again.  But  she  was  still  in 
Mother's  room  when  I  got  upstairs,  so  I  got  into  bed  and 
thought  I'd  tell  her  Grandpa  wanted  to  see  her  when 
she  came  back." 

"And  why  didn't  you,  Tommy?" 

"I  don't  remember.     I  guess  I  went  to  sleep." 

"And  what  made  you  go  downstairs  in  the  first 
place,  Tommy  ? "  his  mother  asked,  her  voice  trembling 
in  spite  of  her  effort  for  control. 

"  I  couldn't  go  to  sleep  because  you  and  Lizzie  were 
talking  so  loud  and  Lizzie  was  crying.  I  got  up  to  get 
a  drink  in  the  bathroom  and  I  looked  out  into  the  hall, 
the  door  was  open — and  Grandpa  was  there  and  I 
asked  him  what  he  was  doing  and  he  said  he  was  sending 
a  telegram 

"Yes,  that's  perfectly  correct,"  George  said.  "We 
found  it  on  the  hall  table." 

"So  then  he  said  'Come  on  down  and  pay  me  a  visit, 
old  scout!'  and  I  went.  And  Mother  told  me  next  day 
he  was  sick,"  Tommy  went  on  pleasantly,  as  he  worked 
busily  with  the  swivel  of  George's  watch  chain,  "so 
purraps  that  was  when  he  was  beginning  to  feel  a  little 


264  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

bit  sick!  If  I  was  a  spy,  and  they  caught  me"  Tommy 
added  vaingloriously,  "I'd  shoot  so  fast,  and  my  horse 
would  ride  so  fast,  that  I'd  get  away  from  them,  whether 
they  liked  it  or  not!  I'd " 

"Listen,  Tom,"  George  said.  "Down  at  my  place 
at  Sands  Point,  do  you  know  what  I've  got?  I've  got 
a  shaggy  little  gentleman  who  came  from  the  Isle  of 
Shetland " 

"A  pony!"  Tommy  whispered,  his  eyes  alight. 
"Mother,  has  he  really  got  a  pony?"  he  asked,  digging 
his  dark  hair  into  his  mother's  shoulder,  and  smiling  in 
bashful  delight. 

"I  suppose  he  has,"  Ellen  answered,  smiling. 

"And  that  pony,"  George  said  impressively,  "will 
be  your  pony  if  you'll  do  something  for  me!" 

Tommy  glanced  at  his  mother,  actually  pale  with  joy. 

"Mother — he  is  going  to  give  me  that  pony!"  he 
said,  on  an  excited  breath.  "Oh,  Mother,  can  I  have 
a  pony  ?  He  can  stay  at  Hewlett's,"  he  decided  swiftly. 
"Until  we  can  have  a  little  stable  built  for  him!  I 
could  build  it — or  if  a  man  came  to  do  some  of  it, 
I  could  help  him !  All  you  need  is  planks  and  nails " 

"But  how  about  doing  something  for  me? "George 
asked. 

"Sure!"  said  Tommy,  in  the  manlike,  careless  voice 
befitting  the  owner  of  a  pony.  "I'll  do  anything." 

"I  want  you  to  come  over  to  Mineola  with  Mother 
and  me,"  George  said.  "And  tell  all  this  to  a  man  there 
— a  friend  of  mine — all  about  your  grandfather,  you 
know,  and  the  whole  thing!" 

"Why?"  asked  Tommy,  round-eyed. 

"That's  just  what  I  don't  want  you  to  ask,  Tommy, 
and  just  what  I  can't  very  well  explain  to  you.  / 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  265 

don't  ask  you  why  you  want  this  pony,"  George  said 
pointedly.  "Now  this  man  will  ask  you  lots  of  ques 
tions,"  he  went  on,  "  and  you  must  answer  them.  And 
if  you  can't  remember  anything,  just  say  so." 

"All  right!"  Tommy  agreed  indifferently.  "Has 
he  got  a  saddle?" 

"Mother's  going  to  give  you  a  saddle,"  Ellen  prom 
ised.  She  called  Lizzie.  "  Lizzie,  will  you  take  Tommy 
upstairs  and  read  to  him,  and  talk  about  the  pony?" 
she  asked,  with  a  significant  look.  And  when  they 
were  gone  she  turned  to  George,  and  she  and  George 
and  Joe  stared  at  each  other. 

"That  is  the  most  extraordinary  thing  that  has 
come  to  me  in  the  entire  course  of  my  profession," 
George  said,  slowly,  as  if  he  had  been  stunned.  "I 
must  get  hold  of  Ryan  at  once.  There's  a  point  or 
two — what  do  you  make  of  his  saying  he  fired  the  pistol 
twice  ? " 

"Lizzie's  story  agrees  with  that!  She  had  loaded 
it  with  only  one  shell,"  Ellen  supplied  quickly.  "All 
the  chambers  but  one  were  empty!" 

"It  was  like  the  old  man — I  could  hear  his  voice," 
George  mused,  "'I  surrender!'  If  I  can  get  hold  of 
Ryan!  Ellen,  could  you  take  the  child  over  there  at 
once?" 

"Anything — anywhere ! "  Her  face  clouded.  " But, 
George,  they  won't  take  that  baby  into  court — they 
won't  cross-examine  Tommy  ? " 

"No — no!"  he  said,  smiling.  "He'll  simply  talk  to 
him,  and  it  will  be  taken  down.  You  may  trust  Tommy 


to  me. 
tt 


And,  George — do  you  think? — is  there  any  hope? 
Might  they  really  clear  Gibbs  for  a  thing  like  this?" 


266  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

He  put  a  hand  on  her  shoulder,  as  she  stood  looking 
fearfully  up  at  him.  Ellen  never  forgot  the  joy,  the 
tenderness,  the  sympathy  in  his  eyes. 

"My  dear  girl — my  dear  girl — I  think  that  in  a  few 
days  Gibbs  will  walk  into  this  house  with  you  to  have 
dinner  with  the  Captain  and  Aunt  Elsie!" 

The  ecstasy  of  real  hope,  after  the  weeks  of  pretence! 
The  joy  of  action  and  hurry  after  so  many  days  when 
there  had  been  nothing  to  do !  It  was  a  lowering  winter 
day,  but  to  Ellen  it  seemed  as  if  the  sun  of  June  were 
shining. 

She  ran  upstairs,  and  while  she  and  Lizzie  and 
Tommy  chattered  of  the  pony,  her  tones  sang.  She 
dropped  beside  her  old  bed,  to  bury  her  burning  face 
and  throbbing  brain  in  her  arms,  and  pray.  And  going 
past  Aunt  Elsie's  door  she  saw  the  old  woman  on  her 
knees,  too,  and  the  grizzled  head  bent  against  a  gayly 
coloured  "Log  Cabin"  quilt.  Ellen  went  in,  they 
laughed  and  wept  together. 

"Whatever  'tis,  Ellen,  you  must  pray  to  be  resigned, 
dear!  But  I  hope  and  trust  the  good  Lord,  who  knows 
what's  best  for  us  all,  has  seen  fit  to  lift  your  burden!" 
said  Aunt  Elsie. 

"I  keep  saying  to  myself  that  we'll  know  in  a  few 
hours,"  Lizzie  murmured,  tying  Tommy's  Windsor 
tie  under  his  firm,  round  little  chin.  "Don't  put  that 
pencil  in  your  mouth,  Tommy,  now  that  your  face  is 
all  clean!" 

"Lord,  you  couldn't  stand  this, sort  of  strain  long!" 
Joe  remarked,  when  they  were  all  in  the  Lathrop 
limousine. 

"Please  God  we  won't  have  to  stand  it  long,"  George 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  267 

said,  quietly.  Ellen,  glancing  at  the  face  she  had 
grown  to  love  and  trust,  knew  that  he  was  stirred  to  the 
deeps  of  his  soul. 

It  was  a  strange  drive,  over  snowy  roads,  and  between 
bare  fields.  The  trees  were  leafless,  the  world  hushed 
under  a  sky  of  lead.  It  was  Sunday,  and  in  the  villages 
young  people  were  laughing  and  talking,  as  they  lounged 
about  station  platforms  and  candy  stores.  But  there 
was  no  life  on  the  roads,  except  when  a  trolley-car, 
loaded  with  visiting  women  and  babies,  whined  upon  its 
way. 

Tommy  talked  incessantly,  and  everybody  talked 
to  Tommy  with  unusual  graciousness.  Every  foot  of 
the  eight-mile  trip  had  long  ago  become  drearily  fami 
liar  to  Ellen,  on  her  daily  drives  to  and  fro,  but  it  had 
never  seemed  as  long  as  it  did  to-day.  Yet  they  were 
not  twenty  minutes  on  their  way. 

"George,"  she  said,  at  parting  on  the  court-house 
steps,  "I  had  better  not  say  anything  to  Gibbs?" 

"I  certainly  would,"  he  answered,  after  a  moment's 
thought. 

"Then — then  you're  pretty  sure,  George?" 

They  exchanged  a  long  look.     The  man  nodded. 

"So  sure,"  he  answered,  "that  I  would  not  take 
Tommy  to  see  him  to-day.  I  wouldn't  have  that 
association  in  Tommy's  mind,  it  seems  to  me." 

"Oh,  George — but  I  can't  believe  it!"  she  said 
dizzily.  "If  anything  happens  now — I  don't  think  I 
can  bear  it!" 

"I  don't  think  anything  will,  Ellen,"  he  said  in  his 
quiet  way.  "Lizzie  had  better  come  with  me,  for  they 
might  keep  us  waiting,  and  I  don't  want  Tommy  to  be 
frightened."  He  gave  the  child  his  hand.  "Come  on, 


268  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

Tommy!"  he  said.     "You  come  with  us,  Lizzie,  will 
you?     By  the  way,  what  are  you  going  to  name  your 

5» 

pony  r 

Ellen  watched  them  up  the  steps.  Then  she  turned 
to  Joe,  and  the  hideous  atmosphere  of  the  jail  enveloped 
them.  Ellen  went  quickly  through  the  familiar  doors 
and  gates. 

"Will  you  wait  here,  Joe?"  she  asked,  as  they  came 
to  a  sort  of  central  hallway  where  a  sergeant  sat  reading 
at  a  desk.  And  with  a  pathetic  little  attempt  at 
apology,  which  he  found  infinitely  touching,  she  added: 
"Gibbs  will  want  to  see  you  when  he  hears  the  good 
news — if  it  is  good  news!  But  just  now  he  doesn't 
like  to  see  any  one  but  me." 

She  greeted  the  man  at  the  desk  with  a  quiet  sort  of 
dignity  that  impressed  her  brother. 

"You  haven't  got  the  little  boy?"  the  sergeant  asked. 

"No,"  she  said,  flustered.  "I — we  thought  it  better 
not  to  bring  him!" 

The  man  looked  grave,  came  about  his  desk,  and 
said  something  in  a  low  tone  of  which  Joe  only  caught 
the  words  "to-morrow  morning."  Ellen  answered  with 
a  nervous  murmur  of  assent. 

Two  young  men  who  were  waiting  rather  ostenta 
tiously  near  by  came  up  to  her,  and  she  spoke  to  them 
with  patient  courtesy. 

"No,  I  did  not  bring  the  little  boy  to-day!"  Joe  heard 
her  say,  smiling  faintly  but  with  evident  distress  at  the 
interruption,  and  turning  as  she  spoke  as  if  to  end  the 
conversation.  One  of  the  yourig  men  detained  her 
with  an  imploring  touch  of  his  fingers  on  her  sleeve. 

"Just  one  moment — I'm  so  sorry  to  trouble  you!" 
he  said,  with  desperate  and  reluctant  eagerness.  "Will 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  269 

you  tell  me — just  this  one  thing — did  Ryan  come  here, 
just  now,  to  meet  Mr.  Lathrop?" 

She  looked  at  him  bewilderedly. 

"Yes — I  think  I  may  say  that!" 

"Did  !"  both  of  the  young  men  exclaimed,  exulting. 
"Then — then  there's  some  chance  of  a  new  trial?'* 

"I — really,  I  couldn't  say."  Ellen  looked  about 
as  if  for  escape.  "  But  if  you  will  wait  until  I  see  Mr. 
Lathrop — you've  all  been  so  kind ! —  "  she  murmured, 
appealingly.  Joe,  remembering  his  own  brief  newspa 
per  experience,  could  imagine  the  excitement  with 
which  the  press  men  would  await  a  possible  "break" 
in  the  famous  Josselyn  case,  as  they  returned  to  their 
waiting. 

Ellen  turned,  and  went  hastily  away,  Joe  watching 
her  go :  the  big  jail  was  very  still  in  the  winter  afternoon. 

She  was  familiar  with  every  step  of  the  way,  now, 
the  small  corridor  smelling  of  cement,  the  longer  corrider 
beyond,  the  door  of  Gibbs's  celL  It  was  unlocked  for 
her,  she  always  went  inside. 

The  first  few  minutes  with  him,  when  she  became 
afresh  accustomed  to  the  appalling  atmosphere  of  the 
jail,  were  always  terrible  to  Ellen.  To-day,  as  she 
reached  Gibbs,  her  trembling  confidence  and  new-born 
hope  shrivelled,  and  she  had  a  sickening  sensation  of 
doubt.  Could  anything — anything — prevail  against  the 
power  of  these  dark  walls,  this  inhuman  machine? 

He  was  sitting  on  his  bed,  in  the  narrow  space,  and 
she  sat  beside  him.  He  looked  ill  and  wretched,  and 
did  not  rise  as  she  came  in,  nor  move  except  to  raise  his 
haggard  eyes.  The  guard,  at  the  door,  walked  away. 

"Hello,  dear,"  Gibbs  said  lifelessly.     "Did  Tommy 


come  r 


270  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"I  had  an  order  from  the  Court  that  you  might  come 
into  the  sergeant's  office  to  see  Tommy,"  Ellen  an 
swered,  trembling  so  violently  that  she  was  hardly 
conscious  of  what  she  was  saying.  "But,  Gibbs,  we 
thought  it  best  not  to  bring  him." 

He  nodded,  looking  down  at  his  clasped  hands. 
Ellen  gave  the  dropped  patient  head,  the  beautiful 
idle  fingers,  and  the  whole  drooping  figure  a  look  of 
infinite  compassion. 

"But  you  don't  ask  me  why  we  decided  that,"  she 
said,  in  smiling  accusation. 

Instead  of  answering  he  raised  his  hand,  with  her 
own  still  resting  on  it,  and  she  saw  her  fingers  shak 
ing. 

"Poor  little  Ellen!"  he  said  tenderly. 

His  tone  brought  tears  to  her  eyes,  and  she  made  a 
quick  gesture  of  impatience.  She  must  not  cry  now. 

"Gibbs,  dear,"  she  said,  her  tone  quivering  treach 
erously.  "The  reason  was,  that  George  thinks  he 
has  new  evidence." 

"I  knew  he  was  trying  to  find  some,"  Gibbs  said 
wearily. 

"You  know,  I'm  so  afraid  of  going  into  hysterics, 
or  fainting,  or  something,"  Ellen  said  childishly. 
"That  I  want  you  not  to  say  you  don't  believe  me 
when  I  tell  you  something." 

"George  really  hopes  for  a  new  trial,  hey?"  Gibbs 
mused.  "This  jury  was  out  five  hours,  Ellen — they 
were  five  for  murder  in  the  first  degree,  on  the  first 
ballot.  I — I  can't  see  that  old  George  is  right  in 
pushing  this  thing  to  the  wall " 

"Look  at  me,^dear,"  Ellen  said,  taking  both  his  hands. 
"Look  at  me.  Try  to  understand  what  I  am  saving;. 


.       JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  27* 

We  think — we  think — that — the — the  murderer  has 
confessed." 

"You  think!"  he  echoed,  his  tone  suddenly  harsh. 
"What  do  you  mean?  Don't  you  know?" 

"We  will  know,"  she  said,  trembling.  "We  will 
know  in  a  little  while  now.  Gibbs,  I'll  tell  you  just 
how  it  all  came  about.  Lizzie  and  Joe  and  Tommy 
came  down  from  Bridgeport  this  morning,  and  it 
was  while  I  was  keeping  Tommy  quiet — for  it's  a  long 
trip  for  a  child — that  he  suddenly  said  something 
about  Grandpa.  Lizzie  and  I  were  not  listening 
exactly,  but  the  words  seemed  to  come  back  to  me — 
as  words  do,  you  know,  and  I  said,  as  quietly  as  I  could, 
'What  did  you  say  Grandpa  let  you  do?' 

"He  said  'Fire  his  revolver!"  Ellen's  words  fell  in 
a  tense  silence.  Gibbs  looked  at  her  with  awakening 
eyes. 

"My  God — my  God!"  he  whispered. 

"Well,  we  looked  at  him,  and  I  was  so  afraid  I'd 
frighten  him,  or  make  him  self-conscious,  that  I  could 
hardly  get  any  roice.  But  Lizzie  asked  him  when 
this  was,  and  he  told  us  the  whole  thing.  That  he  had 
wandered  to  the  top  of  the  stairs  in  his  nightgown,  and 
Grandpa  was  walking  across  the  lower  hall:  he  had  just 
put  a  telegram  on  the  hall  table,  for  Torrens  to  take  in 
the  morning,  and  he  called  Tom  down.  Tommy  said 
that  he  wanted  to  play  with  the  chessmen,  and  he 
opened  the  table  drawer — Gibbs,  you  would  be 
amazed  how  clearly  he  told  it!  He  said  Grandpa  was 
sitting  in  that  very  chair,  and  Gibbs,  he  even  took  the 

attitude !  He  said  that  he  saw  the  pistol,  and 

Grandpa  said.  'Take  it  out,  Tommy,  it's  not  loaded."' 

"He  couldn't  possibly  have  loaded  it.  dear,  with 


272  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

Dad  looking  on.  And  my  father  surely  wouldn't  have 
had  it  loaded !" 

"But,  Gibbs,  Lizzie  had  loaded  it  that  morning!" 

"God!"  Gibbs  said  again,  under  his  breath. 

"And  this  part,  Gibbs,  is  so  strange!  He  fired  it 
twice,  your  father  directing  him.  He  fired  first  at 
some  target  over  the  mantel,  and  then  somewhere 
else " 

"Couldn't  pull  the  trigger !"  Gibbs  said  breath 
lessly. 

"Oh,  indeed  he  did!  He  fired  twice,  but  you  see 
those  chambers  were  empty.  And,  Gibbs,  he  says 
that  Grandpa  said  to  him  'Good  old  Tommy!'  You 
remember  how  he  used  to  say  that?  Then  they  had 
some  talk  about  soldiers,  and  finally  your  father  was  a 
spy — and  the  amazing  thing  is,  Gibbs,  to  hear  Tommy 
tell  it — every  few  minutes  he  would  put  in  something 
that  the  testimony  had  developed,  and  Lizzie  and  I 
would  look  at  each  other!  I  couldn't  realize  it — 
the  importance  of  it,  but  I  knew  George  was  on  his 
way,  and  that  he  would  know!  Well,  and  then  Tom 
got  frightened,  and  he  tried  to  rouse  your  father,  and 
threw  the  pistol  in  the  basket,  and  ran  out  and  called 
for  Lizzie.  But  Lizzie,  of  course,  didn't  hear.  He 
wasn't  sure  whether  your  father  was  fooling  or  not,  but 
the  noise  of  the  report  had  frightened  him.  He  was 
afraid  he'd  be  scolded  for  getting  out  of  bed  and 
going  downstairs  so  when  he  found  Lizzie  was  not  in 
the  room,  he  got  into  bed  and  before  she  came  in,  he 
fell  asleep.  The  next  day,  of  course,  we  carefully  kept 
any  of  the  excitement  from  him — 

"What  does  George  think  about  it?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know.     But  he  telephoned  the  Dis~ 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  273 

trict  Attorney  immediately,  and  Ryan  is  here  now 
talking  to  George,  and  to  Tommy.  Oh,  Gibbs — 
Gibbs!"  she  broke  off  feverishly.  "It's  made  me — 
I  can't  tell  you — so  nervous! — I  can't  tell  you " 

"I  know!"  he  interrupted  nervously.  "We  mustn't 
allow  ourselves  to  think  about  it !" 

"Could  a  child  Tommy's  age  testify,  Gibbs?" 

"I  don't  know,  dear." 

"And — if  they  believe  this,  does  it  mean  a  new 
trial?" 

"It  might,  I  don't  know." 

"We  can  only  wait."  Ellen  tightened  her  fingers 
on  his,  and  they  sat  silent. 

A  messenger  came  to  the  officer  at  the  cell's  door 
who  spoke  a  moment  later  to  Ellen.  Would  Mrs. 
Josselyn  step  into  the  warden's  office  a  minute,  to 
speak  to  Mr.  Lathrop?  Ellen,  with  one  quick  flutter 
of  breath,  smiled  a  good-bye  to  Gibbs,  and  was  gone. 

In  the  warden's  office  she  found  George  and  the 
District  Attorney. 

"Good     afternoon,    Mrs.    Josselyn,"    Ryan    said. 
Ellen,  smiling  faintly,  tried  to  read  his  rosy,  complac 
ent    face.     "This    is    a    most    extraordinary   turn   of 
events,"  he  said.     "This  little  fellow  had  the  secret' 
up  his  sleeve  all  the  time,  eh?" 

Ellen  felt  almost  faint  with  the  revulsion  this  change 
in  his  manner  gave  her.  Ryan  had  always  been  sharp, 
suspicious,  menacing,  before.  She  wanted  to  ask: 
"You  believe  it,  then?"  but  quick  intuition  told  her 
that  that  must  wait.  So  she  asked  instead : 

" Tommy  talked,  did  he?  He  answered  you/ 
questions  ? " 


274  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"He  is  an  extremely  intelligent  child,"  Ryan  re 
marked.  "Gave  his  testimony  like  a  little  man. 
Nothing  that  we  could  say  could  shake  him." 

"Not  that  Mr.  Ryan  was  very  hard  on  him,"  George 
smiled.  "He  certainly  has  the  right  manner  with  a 
child." 

Ellen  knew  that  George  never  wasted  words.  She 
was  quick  to  take  her  cue. 

"You  have  children,  Mr.  Ryan?" 

"I  have  three — three  girls."  The  District  Attorney's 
voice,  the  voice  that  she  had  heard  so  sharp  and  harsh, 
was  soft  and  tender  now. 

"This  is  a  smart  little  fellow  of  yours,"  he  continued. 
"We  put  him  through  a  pretty  sharp  half-hour.  He 
stuck  to  it.  I — I  won't  deny  that  I  think  this  changes 
the  entire  aspect  of  affairs,  Mrs.  Josselyn.  I've  al 
ready  advised  the  sheriff  to  delay  the — the  transfer  of 
Mr.  Josselyn." 

"There  may  be  a  new  trial?"  Ellen  asked,  trembling. 
For  answer  Daniel  Ryan  smiled  at  her,  and  there 
was  something  so  kindly,  so  reassuring,  in  that  red 
face,  when  it  smiled,  that  she  felt  a  melting,  a  breaking 
up  of  coldness  and  hate,  in  her  heart.  Hate  changed 
suddenly  to  love  and  fear  changed  to  confidence.  Ellen 
experienced  the  most  poignant  of  all  human  emotions. 

"We  may  not  even  have  it  go  to  trial,"  George 
supplied. 

"May  nqt?"  she  echoed,  choking. 

"No,"  Ryan  confirmed  it.  "There  is  no  question 
for  a  jury.  I  don't  know  of  a  parallel  case,"  he  said 
thoughtfully.  "But  I  should  suppose  that  it  would 
only  be  necessary  to  put  this  evidence  before  the 
Court,  with  suitable  testimony  to  its  genuineness, 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  275 

to  have  the  whole  case  dismissed!"  He  turned  to  the 
warden.  "May  we  see  Mr.  Josselyn?"  he  asked,  with 
the  quiet  manner  of  a  man  making  a  request  sure  to  be 
granted. 

"Where  is  Tom?"  Ellen  asked,  while  they  waited. 

"We  sent  him  home,  with  Lizzie.  Mr.  Ryan  asked 
her  not  to  let  him  talk  about  this  matter,  and  you'll 
see  to  that,  too,  Ellen?" 

"We  might  need  him  again,"  Ryan  said. 

Gibbs,  followed  by  the  inevitable  guard,  came  in, 
and  they  turned  to  him.  His  silver  crest  was,  as  al 
ways,  as  smooth  as  satin,  but  he  looked  ill-groomed 
and  haggard;  worst  of  all,  he  looked  beaten.  There 
were  lead-coloured  circles  about  his  dark,  anxious 
eyes,  and  his  manner  had  a  certain  nervous  apprehen- 
siveness  that  was  unlike  its  old  imperial  certainty. 
He  had  been  overpowered,  disbelieved,  he  had  been 
triumphantly  convicted  of  one  of  the  most  hideous 
crimes  in  the  calendar  of  crime,  he  faced  years — 
twenty  interminable  years  or  all  the  rest  of  his  life — 
of  moral  and  mental  degradation,  of  social  ostracism. 
This  brisk,  positive  District  Attorney  was  master  here. 

"Mr.  Josselyn,"  Ryan  said,  "has  your  wife  in 
formed  you  that  we  have  found  some  most  important 
testimony  bearing  upon  your  case?" 

"You  regard  it  so,  Mr.  Ryan?"  Gibbs  said  lifelessly. 

"I  regard  it  as  more  than  important.  I  regard  it 
as  so  vital  that  I  feel  free  to  congratulate  you  upon  it, 
Mr.  Josselyn,  upon  a  miraculous  escape  from  an  error 
of  the  law.  And  I  hope  to  God,"  Ryan  added,  "that  we 
will  soon  find  means  to  get  you  out  of  here!" 

"I  thank  you,"  Gibbs  answered  briefly.  But 
Ellen  saw  his  lip  tremble. 


276  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"Gibbs — my  dear,  dear  boy!"  George  stammered, 
taking  both  his  hands. 

Ellen  had  a  quick  sensation  of  faintness  and  nausea. 
She  looked  bravely  at  George,  and  smiled  waveringly. 

"We — we  mustn't  be  too  sure —  "  she  stammered. 
A  moment  later  the  harsh,  whitewashed  walls  and  the 
rodded  doors,  the  warden's  desk,  and  the  tall,  bare  win 
dows,  vanished.  She  saw  them  all  blur  together,  like 
a  picture  in  a  bubble,  and,  like  the  bubble,  suddenly 
become  flecked  with  widening  black  spots.  Then  every 
thing  was  black. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

ON  A  quiet  September  morning,  about  a  year  and  a 
half  later,  a  young  man,  his  pretty  wife,  and  their  very 
small  baby,  got  out  of  the  long  train  of  dusty  Pullman 
coaches  at  the  dry,  sleepy  little  California  town  of  Los 
Antonios.  From  the  station  platform,  with  eyes 
eager  for  new  impressions,  they  looked  down  the  small 
straggling  Main  Street,  where  "The  Red  Front" 
dry-goods  store,  the  "Palace  Picture  Plays,"  and  "The 
L'Accomodacion"  millinery,  in  their  hideous  brightness 
of  paint  and  glass,  were  scattered  among  the  older 
adobe  buildings,  blank-faced  buildings,  with  narrow 
porches  running  across  the  upper  floors.  There  was  a 
small  bank,  its  wooden  steps  baking  in  the  sunshine, 
just  opposite  the  station,  flanked  by  two  open  markets, 
where  figs  and  sprawling  grapes  made  an  unfamiliar 
note  among  the  tomatoes  and  peaches.  Dusty  farm' 
wagons  were  tied  along  the  curb,  and  between  them 
stood  occasional  motor-cars.  To  these  wagons  a 
burdened  man  or  woman  sometimes  made  approach; 
various  bundles  and  boxes  were  stowed  away:  apples, 
coiled  rope,  groceries,  a  great  unwieldy  lump  from  the 
butcher  store,  a  smoothly  wrapped  armful  from  "The 
Red  Front."  There  was  lively  coming  and  going  at  the 
post  office.  It  chanced  to  be  a  Saturday  morning, 
and  Los  Antonios  was  experiencing  the  busiest  business 
hour  of  the  week. 

After  a  smiling  survey  of  the  scene,  during  which 

277 


278  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

they  were  apparently  entirely  unnoticed,  the  man 
crossed  the  street  to  the  bank,  and  asked  a  question 
of  the  teller. 

"Sure  you  can:  you  can  fome  from  here,"  said  that 
delicate,  blond,  moustached  official  pleasantly,  "Fome 
Murphy's  Garage,  and  they'll  take  you  up  there.  The 
Josselyns  who  have  the  old  Perry  place,  isn't  it?  Sure, 
it's  about  six  miles  out  of  town,  up  in  the  hills."  He 
meditated  a  second,  and  then  with  a  sudden  burst  of 
interest  he  added,  "Say,  Mrs.  Josselyn  was  in  here 
about  a  minute  ago!  Know  her  car?  Her  car  must 
be  right  outside  here." 

And  he  obligingly  stepped  to  the  door  with  the  new 
comer,  and  looked  up  and  down  the  street. 

"That's  the  car,"  he  said,  indicating  one  that  had 
been  left  empty  before  the  post  office  door.  "If 
you  get  in  there  and  wait  for  Mrs.  Josselyn,  she'll  be 
right  out  of  somewheres.  Visiting  here?" 

"I'm  just  in  from  New  York,"  said  the  new  arrival, 
smiling,  "I'm  her  brother." 

"That  so  ? "  The  blond  teller  was  pleased.  "You'll 
not  get  any  weather  like  this  there!"  he  added  com 
placently,  going  back  to  his  cage. 

Joe  went  across  the  street  again,  and  took  the  baby 
from  its  mother's  arms. 

"That's  Ellen's  car,  there!"  he  said,  smiling  ner 
vously.  Lizzie  did  not  speak.  Her  cheeks  were  burn 
ing  with  excitement.  For  four  months  she  and  Joe 
had  talked  of  going  to  California  to  see  Ellen,  but  it 
seemed  a  mad  dream  to  her  still.  "I  can't  believe 
we're  here!"  Joe  echoed  her  thought.  "In  a  few 
minutes  we'll  see  her!" 

"Oh,  don't!"  Lizzie  said   faintly.     With  the  baby 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  279 

on  one  arm,  and  the  big  suitcase  in  his  free  hand,  Joe 
went  to  the  waiting  motor,  and  Lizzie,  carrying  the  little 
suitcase,  followed.  He  put  his  wife  and  baby  in  the 
tonneau,  where  various  packages  were  already  piled, 
but  was  too  nervous  himself  to  join  them  there,  and 
walked  up  and  down  the  sidewalk  instead,  turning  his 
head  whenever  a  screen-door  banged,  to  look  for 
Ellen. 

Suddenly  they  saw  her,  in  a  doorway  ,a  hundred 
feet  away,  talking  to  some  other  marketing  woman. 
The  same  Ellen,  with  her  blue  honest  eyes,  and  her 
sensitive,  sweet  mouth,  with  white-shod  feet,  and  a 
soft  white  hat  crushed  over  her  dark  hair,  and  a  trim 
little  striped  gingham  gown  showing  under  her  loose 
dust  coat.  There  was  some  new  quality  in  her  face  and 
manner:  what  was  it? — responsibility,  gravity,  tender 
ness,  Joe  could  not  tell. 

He  walked  up  to  her,  and  she  raised  surprised  eyes. 

"Mornin',  Mis'  Josselyn!" 

The  puzzled  look  in  her  eyes  changed  swiftly,  and 
she  put  her  hands  out  and  caught  at  him  vaguely,  as 
if  to  hold  a  dream.  For  a  few  seconds  she  held  him  at 
arm's  length,  staring  at  him  amazedly,  then  with  a 
little  sound  between  laughter  and  tears  she  put  her 
arms  about  him  in  the  old  way. 

"Joe  Latimer!  Joe!"  She  groped  for  her  handker 
chief,  laughing  as  she  wiped  her  eyes;  tears  of  joy 
stood  in  his  own.  "But  Joe  dear,  what  brings  you 
here!  I  simply  can't  believe  it!  I  can't  believe  my 
eyes!"  she  said. 

"Lizzie  brought  me!"  Joe  grinned.  Ellen  dropped 
his  hand  to  go  swiftly  to  the  motor-car. 

"Lizzie!"  she  echoed  radiantly.     Her  eyes  fell  upon 


280  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

the  bundle  in  Lizzie's  arms,  across  which  Lizzie  must 
lean  to  return  her  kiss.  "But — but — what!"  Ellen 
stammered.  "You — you  two  haven't  got  a  bavy?" 

Joe  thought  that  one  moment  was  worth  all  the 
fatigue  of  the  long  trip. 

"Haven't  we!"  he  said,  as  Ellen,  standing  on  the 
curb,  with  the  precious  bundle  in  her  arms,  opened 
the  tissues  that  screened  the  tiny  face,  and  bent  her 
own  cheek  against  the  warm,  unresponsive  little  cheek. 

"And  such  a  tiny  one!"  she  exulted.  "But  how  old 
is  he?  And  you  never  wrote  me  a  word!" 

"Well,  the  truth  was,  we  didn't  know  it  ourselves 
until  most  people  have  got  everything  ready  down  to 
the  last  safety-pin!"  Joe  explained. 

"And  then  I  was  so  sick  I  didn't  reallydream  itwould 
all  come  out  right!"  Lizzie  added  eagerly.  "We 
planned  to  keep  it  a  secret  until  it  was  over.  And 
then  Joe  got  your  birthday  present,  and  he  said,  'Lizzie, 
we'll  take  the  baby  out  to  call  on  Aunt  Ellen!'" 

"Well,  I  have  never  had  such  a  delicious  surprise 
in  my  life!"  Ellen  exclaimed.  "You  darling!"  she 
crooned  to  the  baby.  "What  did  you  name  him,  Joe?" 

"We  thought  a  good  name  for  him  would  be  Ellen," 
grinned  Joe.  It  was  good  to  hear  her  old  laugh  again, 
and  see  the  pleasure  in  her  eyes  as  she  glanced  from 
face  to  face. 

"Named  for  me?  My  own  tiny  niece!  Ah,  Joe, 
you  make  me  proud!"  She  gave  the  baby  back  to 
Lizzie,  and  stood  for  a  moment,  resting  her  hands  on 
the  car  door,  and  still  trying  to  regain  her  breath  after 
the  surprise.  "Well,  now,  I'll  take  you  home!  I 
may  have  something  else  to  do  while  I'm  in  town,  but 
it  has  gone  completely  out  of  my  head,  if  I  have!"  she 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  281 

said.  "Get  in  front  with  the  baby,  Lizzie:  then  the 
shield  will  screen  her,  and  Joe  can  lean  over  and  talk 
to  us  both.  I  can't  wait  to  get  home,  to  show  Gibbs 
what  I've  brought  with  me!" 

Talking  of  little,  inconsequent  things,  as  those  who 
love  each  other,  and  who  meet  after  years,  always  must 
do  at  first,  they  drove  through  the  dusty  street,  and 
past  flat  fields  where  great  oaks  threw  blots  of  shade 
on  the  shining  brown  grass,  and  so  climbed  a  curving 
road  into  the  hills.  From  the  top,  where  Ellen  stopped 
the  car  for  a  few  minutes,  they  could  look  down  upon 
the  sparkling  sapphire  of  the  Pacific,  and  see  the  idle 
creaming  waves  along  the  rocky  shore.  The  soft 
curves  of  the  hills,  falling  away  below  them,  were  clad 
with  scrub  pine  and  cypress  now;  on  flat  green  meadows 
by  the  marshes  a  dairy  farm  slept  in  the  sunshine. 
When  the  car  stood  still,  they  could  hear  the  sleepy, 
incessant  murmur  of  the  ocean. 

Here  and  there  on  the  slopes  a  brown  bungalow 
clung,  half  hidden  in  trees.  Ellen  pointed  at  a  sloping 
roof,  halfway  between  the  ridge  and  the  shore. 

"That's  the  house,"  she  told  them.  "It  belonged  to 
a  Mr.  Perry,  who  knew  Gibbs,  you  know,  and  he  loaned 
it  to  us  at  first.  But  we  loved  it  so  we  couldn't 
think  of  moving  away,  and  a  year  ago  Gibbs  bought 
it." 

"It's  the  loveliest  place  I  ever  saw!"  Lizzie  said,  in  an 
awed  tone. 

"It's  a  wonderful  life  to  me,"  Ellen  admitted 
thoughtfully.  And  as  she  made  no  motion  to  start 
the  car,  but  sat  twisted  about  in  her  seat,  looking  down 
vaguely  at  the  sea,  Joe  wondered  again  what  that  new 
look  in  her  eyes  meant.  "We  can't  get  enough  of  it," 


282  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

she  added.  "It's  all  so  deliciously  simple,  and  so 
free:  like  being  children  again.  It's  taken  us  back  to 
our  summers  in  Brittany.  We  all  sleep  out,  and 
sometimes  I  sleep  twelve  hours,  and  get  up  so  wonder 
fully  gay  and  fresh,  just  eager  for  breakfast,  and  what 
ever  happens  to  be  coming  along,  exactly  like  Tommy ! 
We  wander  about  the  garden,  or  take  our  lunch  down 
to  the  shore,  and  I  pick  up  shells  or  read  to  Gibbs — 
and  little  things  seem  so  big,"  smiled  Ellen,  "and  the 
big  things  don't  come  our  way  at  all!  Gibbs  gets  his 
New  York  paper,  six  days  old,  and  we  have  all  the 
magazines,  and  all  the  books  we  want,  and  now  and 
then,  of  course,  we  have  company.  George  and 
Harriet  were  here  in — in  July,  I  think  it  was.  Gibbs's 
friends  are  always  going  and  coming  through  San  Fran 
cisco,  and  they  come  down!  And  we're  always  pro 
viding  for  the  day  we  get  bored,  by  saying  that  we 
could  go  up  to  the  city  for  a  week,"  she  finished  cheer 
fully.  "But  somehow  we  don't  go!" 

"Lord,  what  air!"  Joe  said,  with  a  deep  breath. 
The  sweet  odour  of  the  pines  was  drifting  through 
the  still  warmth.  From  the  dry  fields  they  could 
hear  the  shrilling  of  grasshoppers. 

"Oh,  it's  marvellous,  Joe.  December  is  apt  to 
have  days  like  this,  and  February  is  a  great  month  for 
picnics!"  Ellen  said,  eagerly.  "What  I  wanted  to 
say  to  you,"  she  added,  a  little  uncertainly,  "was — I 
thought  I  would  just  tell  you " 

They  were  appalled  to  hear  a  sudden  thickening  in 
her  voice,  and  to  see  that  her  utmost  effort  could  not 
keep  her  eyes  from  watering. 

*'You  know  that  Gibbs  hasn't  been  well,  don't  you?" 
she  asked,  hastily. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  283 

''You  wrote  that  he  wasn't  well,  some  time  ago " 

Joe  began  hesitatingly. 

"You'll  see — a  change,"  Ellen  added.  "And  of 
course  you  mustn't  let  him  see  that  you  see  it." 

"Ellen,  he's  not  ill?  My  Lord,  and  we  land  down 
here  on  you !"  Joe  exclaimed. 

"No — no — no!"  she  protested.  "He's  up,  and  all 
that,  and  he'll  be  perfectly  delighted  to  see  you!  But 

he  looks — he  looks "  She  lost  control  of  her  voice 

again. 

"I  should  think  this  climate  would  build  him  up 
again,"  Lizzie  ventured,  a  little  timidly.  Joe  looked 
at  her  gratefully,  and  Ellen  quickly  grasped  the  thread 
of  comfort. 

"Oh,  Lizzie,  it  will — they  all  say  it  will!"  she  said 
eagerly  wiping  her  eyes.  But  immediately  they 
brimmed  again,  and  the  dark  head  and  the  crushed 
white  hat  went  down  on  the  back  of  the  seat;  she  burst 
into  tears.  "Oh,  Joe — Joe — Joe!  He's  not  going  to 
get  well!"  she  sobbed. 

"Ellen!"  Joe  said,  aghast. 

"Oh,  I  know  it,"  Ellen  said  presently,  lifting  her 
head,  and  resolutely  regaining  her  self-control.  "I 
know  it!  I  am  sure  he  does,  too.  I'm  sorry  to  break 
down  this  way,  but  I  don't  often  have  a  chance,"  she 
added  penitently,  with  a  watery  smile.  "I  never  let 
him  see  that — that  it's  killing  me,  too." 

"But,  Ellen,  what  is  it?"  Lizzie  asked  fearfully. 

"Well,  he  was  sick,  after  that  terrible  two  months, 
you  know,"  Ellen  said,  reflectively.  "He  looked — • 
don't  you  remember  how  he  looked  ? " 

"Like  a  ghost,"  Joe  said. 

"Like  a  ghost,  yes.     I  wanted  to  go  back  to  Paris, 


284  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

but  everything  is  changed  there  anyway,  and  then  one 
day  Doctor  Cutter  said,  just  casually,  'I'd  go  some 
where  where  it's  hot  and  dry,  Ellen.  He's  been  under 
a  terrible  mental  and  physical  strain  and  he's  managed 
to  get  a  heavy  cold,  and  there's  a  little  affection  of 
the  lung.  Joe,  how  could  I  ever  dream  it  was  that ! 
We  came  to  Santa  Barbara,  and  the  Perrys  wrote  us 
about  Los  Antonios,  and  Gibbs  did  seem  better,  he  ate 
well,  and  slept  pretty  well — 

Her  voice  dropped  to  utter  silence,  and  they  could 
hear  the  steady,  soft  rush  of  the  sea  again.  Far  down, 
on  a  crescent  of  white  beach,  a  thousand  gulls  rose  sud 
denly  from  a  sandy  reef,  fluttered  about  in  great  curves, 
and  settled  again. 

"But  after  awhile,"  Ellen  presently  went  on,  "I  saw 
that  he  wasn't  gaining — I  saw  that  he  wasn't  gaining! 
He  began  to  have  bad  nights,  and  he  didn't  eat  so 

well !  After  awhile  I  wrote  the  Santa  Barbara 

doctor,  and  he  wrote  back  that  just  before  we  left 
Gibbs  had  been  in  to  see  him,  and  that  he  thought  he 
could  not  improve  upon  his  instructions  then:  to  sleep 
in  the  open  air,  and  live  simply,  and  not  catch  cold. 
So  Gibbs  knows,  but  he  never  spoke  of  that  call  to 
me. 

"Lately,"  she  finished,  "he  has  been  keeping  to  his 
couch  a  good  deal,  he  doesn't  join  us  in  gardening  or 
picnics,  as  he  did  last  year.  Well!  I  only  wanted  to 
warn  you.  Perhaps  it  is  my  own  fancy,  partly.  And, 
Joe — what  a  year  we  have  had!  A  whole  year  of 
Paradise,  nothing  but  each  other,  and  Tom,  music,  and 
books  and  the  garden,  and  the  ocean!  It  has  blotted 
out  all  the  bitterness — wiped  out  the  past.  The  Perrys 
called  the  house  'Arcady,'  and  we've  kept  the  name — 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  285 

at  first  for  convenience  with  the  tradespeople,  but  now 
because  we  know  it  fits!" 

She  started  the  car  down  the  grade,  presently  turning 
in  at  an  opening  in  a  stone  wall  that  was  so  smothered 
in  vines,  so  closely  surrounded  by  low,  sprawling  oaks, 
and  so  much  in  harmony  with  the  colour  scheme  of 
greens  and  browns  about  it  as  to  be  almost  invisible. 
Along  the  road  they  followed  now  garden  flowers  and 
trees  had  been  mingled  with  the  native  growth:  roses 
climbed  into  the  oak  and  cypress  and  pepper  trees, 
nasturtiums  blazed  against  a  whitewashed  adobe  wall. 
Presently  they  came  to  a  long  lattice  buried  in  sweetpea 
vines,  the  bird-like  flowers  poised  as  if  for  flight. 

"Oh,  pretty!"  Lizzie  said,  involuntarily.  They 
were  close  to  the  house  now,  and  its  lower  windows 
were  packed  about  with  bloom:  bushy  marguerites, 
heliotrope  in  purple  and  lavender  flower,  stock,  velvet 
wallflowers,  verbena  in  purest  white  and  pink,  and 
cream  and  salmon  roses  climbing  the  dark  shingles. 

"This  is  the  back  of  the  house,"  Ellen  smiled. 
"You  see  my  gardener  is  Japanese,  and  one  of  their 
theories  is  that  because  a  thing  is  useful  it  needn't 
necessarily  be  hideous.  My  dishtowels  are  blue-and- 
white  poems,  and  the  garbage  barrels  are  fat  little  green 
buckets  that  stand  in  a  little  niche  of  vines.  Welcome, 
you  darlings!  Give  me  that  angel,  Lizzie,  I  want  to 
show  her  to  Gibbs ! " 

She  led  them  through  the  wide  side  hall,  where  great 
logs  waited  in  a  stone  fireplace,  and  bowls  of  flowers 
glowed  in  a  tempered  light.  Everywhere  was  sim 
plicity,  space,  and  beauty,  whether  the  windows  pressed 
close  to  the  oak  trees,  or  gave  a  wide  view  of  the  shining 
ocean. 


286  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

A  glass  double  door  gave  upon  the  great  front  veran 
da,  and  here  Ellen  ran  with  the  baby. 

"I  want  you  to  meet  Ellen  Latimer,  Gibbs !" 

It  was  well  that  they  had  been  warned  of  what  change 
they  might  find  in  him,  for  Lizzie  caught  a  quick  breath 
as  she  saw  him,  and  it  required  all  Joe's  presence  of 
mind  to  go  forward  and  greet  him  naturally.  Fortu 
nately  the  surprise  and  confusion  of  the  meeting  covered 
any  awkwardness,  and  before  the  laughter  and  excite 
ment  had  died  away  the  newcomers  had  grown  some 
what  used  to  the  altered  aspect  of  the  man  on  the  wide 
couch. 

He  was  still  handsome,  Gibbs  would  always  be  that. 
But  he  was  painfully  thin,  and  seemed  strangely  aged. 
His  dark,  splendid  eyes  shone  in  a  thin  face  whose 
temples  blazed  sometimes  with  an  uneasy  colour.  The 
ring  he  always  wore  was  loose  on  the  fine  long  hand. 
His  hair  was  an  even  silvery  white. 

His  manner  was  changed,  too.  There  was  a  gravity, 
a  sweetness,  and  a  certain  heroic  serenity  about  him 
that  seemed  to  lift  them  all  into  the  plane  of  simple 
endurance  and  renunciation.  Lizzie  and  Joe  knew, 
as  they  settled  laughing  into  porch  chairs  to  talk  tG 
him,  that  Ellen's  worst  fears  were  none  too  grave. 

Like  Gibbs  himself,  they  must  accept  the  thing  as  a 
finality.  There  was  no  dispute.  They  found  themselves 
suddenly  confident  and  gay,  as  human  beings,  forced  to 
accept  their  own  helplessness,  usually  become.  This  was 
in  the  nature  of  a  catastrophe:  it  was  almost  as  if  they 
had  come  to  California  to  find  that  Gibbs  was  dead. 

The  exquisite  hours  went  on.  Below  the  dark,  cool 
space  of  the  porch  the  Pacific  spread  in  a  glittering 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  287 

band.  The  little  crescent  of  white  sand  that  was  their 
own  beach  was  bared  by  a  lazily  receding  tide.  The 
garden  odours  and  the  resinous  smell  of  the  pines  were 
permeated  by  the  bracing  salt  breath  of  the  sea. 

Ellen  took  Lizzie  to  the  guest-house:  a  room  with 
windows  on  three  sides,  a  bathroom  at  the  back,  and 
a  winding  stair  going  up  to  the  big  sleeping-porch 
above,  which  was  as  open  as  a  deck.  A  path  of  flat, 
deeply-embedded  stones,  with  grass  sprouting  about 
them,  led  to  the  main  house.  The  kitchen  was  also 
in  a  separate  little  building,  and  the  Chinese  cook  and 
his  son,  who  was  the  house-boy,  had  their  own  tiny 
dwelling  smothered  in  honeysuckle.  Everywhere  was 
the  same  riot  of  bloom,  the  same  tumbling  and  crowding 
of  flowers,  against  the  exquisite  background  of  the 
oaks  and  the  low  manzanitas. 

"Little  Ellen  can  sputter  and  scold  here  as  much  as 
she  pleases,"  Ellen  said,  putting  the  baby  on  the  white 
bed.  "I  think  my  gardener's  wife  will  come  up  from 
Los  Antonios  to  take  care  of  her.  We'll  send  Adachi 
in  this  afternoon." 

"Ellen,"  her  brother  said,  squaring  her  about  for 
another  kiss  in  brotherly  fashion,  "are  we  butting  in?'1 

"Joe,  dear!  If  you  can  only  be  happy  here,  puttering 
about  with  us,  it  will  do  us  all  a  world  of  good ! " 

She  looked  appealingly  straight  into  his  eyes  as  she 
said  it,  but  she  did  not  ask  him  the  expected  question. 
Ellen  was  afraid  of  the  words. 

When  Pong,  the  house-boy,  in  his  plum  colour  and 
paie  green,  came  noiselessly  to  the  porch  to  announce 
luncheon,  Tommy  burst  in,  a  sturdy  brown  Tommy, 
frantic  with  excitement  at  seeing  his  adored  uncle  and 
aunt  again.  He  was  with  difficulty  persuaded  to  rush 


288  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

off  and  transfer  some  of  the  dirt  on  his  hands  to  a 
towel,  and  returned  with  the  centre  lock  of  his  bushy 
hair  dampened  and  combed  amid  a  tousled  mass  that 
had  not  been  touched. 

Yet  even  in  Tommy  Joe  saw  the  change  that  a  great 
shadow  brings  to  even  the  children  of  a  household. 
He  was  all  tenderness  and  devotion  with  his  father, 
and  he  had  a  most  unchildish  fashion  of  entering  into 
his  mother's  mood.  When  the  grass  under  the  oaks 
was  barred  with  straight  lines  of  shadow  from  the 
sinking  sun,  and  a  lingering  twilight  fell  flat  and  soft 
over  the  ocean,  Tommy,  like  the  others,  fell  silent, 
his  dark  head  resting  against  his  father's  arm,  a  big 
book  opened  on  his  knees.  And  when  Ellen  presently 
called  him,  there  was  none  of  the  usual  childish  protest. 
He  went  in,  and  they  heard  Ellen's  fingers  on  the  piano, 
and  then  the  tones  of  his  violin. 

"He  plays  wonderfully!"  Lizzie  said,  when  the 
simple  air  died  away. 

"He  plays  well  for  such  a  child,"  Gibbs  conceded. 
"And  he  loves  it,  which  is  half  the  battle.  I  hope 
Ellen  will  make  a  musician  of  him ! " 

Lizzie  winced  away  from  the  quiet  intimation  that 
Ellen  alone  must  control  Tommy's  destiny,  but  Joe 
missed  the  inference,  and  said  surprisedly: 

"Do  you  really  want  him  to  be  a  musician?" 

"I  think  so,"  Gibbs  answered.  "A  man  with  tem 
perament  is  wretched  in  any  one  of  the  fast-bound 
professions.  Art  is  a  safety-valve;  it  will  make  him  an 
exacting  mistress!" 

He  was  silent  again;  the  others  knew  that  he  saw 
the  Ellen  of  the  years  to  come  with  the  growing  boy 
beside  her. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

Two  or  three  days  later  Gibbs  proposed  a  beach 
luncheon.  Ellen,  brightly  indifferent  when  he  first 
suggested  it,  was  fired  with  sudden  enthusiasm  and 
delight  when  it  transpired  that  he  himself  planned  to 
go,  too. 

"Gibbs !    It  won't  tire  you ! " 

"Tire  me!     Half  a  mile  straight  down-hill!" 

"Oh,  that's  splendid!  And  it's  such  a  glorious  morn 
ing!  And  I've  chops — and  I  think  he  has  a  cake 

Ellen  flashed  off  to  the  kitchen,  where  she  and  Lizzie 
were  presently  in  the  full  glory  of  packing.  Lizzie 
heard  her  tell  Adachi  to  bring  the  car  down  to  the 
">each  at  half-past  three,  but  her  face  was  radiant  all 
die  while.  "Oh,  he  is  better!"  she  said  over  and 
over  again,  as  she  buttered  bread  and  trimmed  oiled 
paper. 

They  set  off  in  a  straggling  line:  Tommy  leaping 
ahead  with  his  dog,  and  circling  them  as  senselessly; 
Gibbs  and  Joe  following,  the  latter  with  his  tiny  daugh 
ter  in  his  arms.  After  them  came  Ellen  with  a  plaid 
and  an  umbrella,  Lizzie  with  the  two  thermos  bottles, 
and  Pong  with  the  loaded  basket. 

"I  have  never  seen  a  man  as  infatuated  with  a  tiny 
scrap  of  humanity  as  Joe  is  with  the  baby!"  Ellen 
smiled.  "Does  it  make  you  jealous,  Lizzie?" 

"Oh,  Ellen,  no!"  Lizzie  said,  horrified.  "I  didn't 
realize — I  don't  think  he  did — what  the  baby  was  going 

289 


290  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

to  mean!"  she  added  presently.  "The  night  she  was 
born — I'll  never  forget  his  face!  I  had  been  ill,  you 
know,  all  the  time,  and  I  had  thought  sometimes  that 
I  mightn't  live,  and  that  that  was  the  way  it  was  all 
to  end!  And  then  came  that  fearful  pain  and — be 
wilderment " 

"I  know!"  Ellen  nodded. 

"And  when  I  suddenly  came  out  of  it  all,  and  found 
there  was  nothing  wrong,  but  a  sweet  little  girl  asleep 
in  a  crib,  why,  it  all  seemed  to  clear  itself!"  Lizzie 
explained.  "And  Joe  came  and  sat  staring  at  the  baby, 
and  after  awhile  he  said:  'You  ought  to  see  her 
breathe,  Lizzie,  and  the  way  she  works  her  little 
fingers!'  I  laughed  and  said:  'Didn't  you  think  she 
was  going  to  breathe?'  And  he  looked  at  me,  sort  of 
puzzled,  and  said:  'Gosh,  Lizzie,  I  don't  know  what 
I  thought!'" 

Lizzie  laughed  merrily,  and  Ellen  laughed  with  her. 

"But  I  knew  what  he  meant,"  Lizzie  resumed, 
"for  we  both  were  really  amazed  to  find  ourselves  well 

and  young  and  at  home  again,  with  this  darling ! 

And  I  said  to  myself,  Ellen,  that  the  past  was  gone. 
I  was  Joe's  wife,  and  Ellen's  mother,  and  the  happiest 
and  richest  woman  in  the  world !  If  God  forgives  us, 
sometimes  I  think  it's  a  sin  not  to  forgive  ourselves. 
So  if  ever  I  find  myself  blue,  I  just  think  that." 

"And  the  consequence  is,  that  you  don't  find  your 
self  blue!"  Ellen  said  gaily. 

"Oh,    I'm   too   happy!  Joe —       Lizzie   said.      She 
gave    Ellen    a    bride's    half-shamed,    half-mischievous, 
smile —  "Joe  is  an  angel!"  announced  Lizzie. 

Then  they  were  at  the  beach,  and  the  centre  of  a 
joyous  activity.  Gibbs  was  settled,  with  the  plaid, 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  29i 

on  a  warm  curve  of  rocks,  where  he  pulled  his  cap  over 
his  eyes,  and  watched  them  all  placidly.  Lizzie  found 
another  natural  chair,  where  she  sank  down  with  her 
baby,  gazing  with  dreamy  content  at  the  glittering 
water,  steeped  in  the  peace  that  the  tugging,  busy  little 
lips  at  her  breast  seemed  to  enhance  rather  than  inter 
rupt.  Then  little  Ellen  was  settled  on  the  pillows 
under  the  umbrella,  and  Lizzie  gaily  joined  the  workers. 
A  hundred  times,  on  this  memorably  happy  day,  Ellen 
found  herself  watching  Lizzie's  little  white  figure,  her 
happy,  youthful  face.  Lizzie  was  just  twenty:  what 
might  have  been  her  destiny  at  twenty  ? 

Joe  was  trimming  bamboo  sticks  to  serve  as  broilers. 
Enamelled  cups  were  set  out  upon  a  smooth  rock.  The 
delicious  smoke  of  a  driftwood  fire  began  to  rise  in 
the  still  air.  The  tide  was  falling,  but  an  occasional 
great  wave  came  bubbling  through  the  rocks,  and 
caused  a  joyous  panic.  Tommy  slipped  and  scrambled 
about,  gathering  starfish,  sea-urchins,  and  periwinkles 
to  domicile  in  a  pool. 

The  tireless,  sweet  green  water  rose  and  fell;  each 
wave  formed  an  emerald  arch  of  itself  before  it  broke 
with  a  long,  splitting  crash,  to  rush  in,  level  and  in 
credibly  swift,  flinging  itself  upward  against  impeding 
rocks,  and  curving  over  the  white  sand.  Gibbs  watched 
it  in  a  delicious  lull  of  body  and  soul.  So  much  of  it — 
such  splendidly  wasted  beauty  and  energy,  year  after 
year.  How  pitiful  was  even  the  fullest,  even  the  long 
est  human  life,  against  this  glorious  miracle  that  went 
on  year  after  year  throughout  the  centuries,  that  had 
been  as  old  as  the  world  when  Padre  Junipera  Serra 
walked  along  these  shores. 

Joe  clattered  near  him  on  the  rocks.      He  tilted  the 


292  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

cap  over  his  eyes  a  trifle,  and  glanced  at  the  absorbed 
group  by  the  fire. 

"Manage  to  speak  to  me  alone  a  minute,  sometime, 
will  you,  Joe?"  Gibbs  said. 

Joe,  not  moving  his  eyes  from  the  defiant  crab 
that  had  wedged  his  little  body  tightly  in  a  crevice  of 
rock,  cleared  his  throat. 

"Sure!"  he  answered,  gruffly. 

Ellen  also  had  her  word  alone  with  Joe.  It  was 
after  luncheon,  when  "Lizzie  had  curled  up  like  a  child 
on  a  patch  of  warm  sand,  and  fallen  asleep,  and  Gibbs 
was  apparently  dozing.  Tommy  was  wading  along  the 
bubbling  line  of  foam,  and  the  baby  slept  on. 

"Isn't  she  pretty?"  Ellen  said,  indicating  Lizzie. 
Joe  grinned  with  pride. 

"She's  awful  cute,  Lizzie,"  he  agreed.  "She's 
smart,  too;  she's  as  good  a  cook  as  Aunt  Elsie  ever 
was — Auntie  says  so  herself!" 

"How  does  the  old  house  seem  without  Grandpa?" 
Ellen  asked.  For  the  old  Captain  had  recently  started 
on  a  last  cruise,  under  sealed  orders. 

"About  the  same.  Old  Mrs.  Cook  lives  there  now, 
she  and  Aunt  Elsie  are  pretty  well  informed  on  village 
topics,"  Joe  answered  with  a  laugh. 

"You  knew  Harriet  and  George  were  here  last 
summer,  Joe,"  Ellen  ventured.  "Do  you  ever  see 
Harriet  now?" 

"No,"  he  answered  indifferently.  "She's  a  queer 
sort  of  girl.  What's  she  doing — collecting  plates!" 

"She  has  a  remarkable  china  collection,"  Ellen 
admitted,  laughing  at  his  tone. 

"China  collection!    What's  that  for  a  woman  to  do!" 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  293 

Joe  stretched  comfortably  in  the  sun.  "Oh,  well," 
he  said  leniently,  "that's  all  right,  if  she  likes  it.  Har 
riet's  nice  enough,  but  she's  spoiled  by  too  much 
money.  She's  entirely  different  from  Lizzie,"  Joe 
added  seriously;  "she  didn't  have  a  sensible  upbringing, 
to  begin  with." 

"Yet  you  liked  her  very  much  once,  Joe,"  Ellen 
suggested,  from  the  depth  of  deep  amusement  and 
satisfaction. 

"  Oh,  yes — kid  love !  I  never  really  loved  any  one  but 
Lizzie,"  said  Joe.  Ellen  saw  that  he  really  believed  it, 
and  with  a  great  sigh  of  thankfulness  she  laid  one  of 
life's  ghosts  to  rest  forever.  "I'd  like  to  go  down  to 
Los  Antonios  some  day,"  Joe  mused,  "and  see  what  sort 
of  opening  there  might  be  in — well,  for  instance,  in  start 
ing  a  paper  there." 

"But,  Joe — there'd  be  no  money  in  that?"  Ellen 
asked,  in  surprise. 

"There  might  be  a  living,"  he  answered.  "I 
haven't  said  anything  to  Lizzie,  but  I  talked  to  Gibbs 
about  it.  I'd  like  to  live  here,  and  have  a  little  bun 
galow,  and  a  bunch  of  kids,  and  I  think  Lizzie'd  go 
crazy!  I'm  seriously  thinking  about  it.  I  could  have 
a  little  jitney,  and  go  back  and  forth 

'"'You  could  have  a  slice  of  Arcady,"  Ellen  prom 
ised  eagerly;  "we've  twenty  acres  here,  and  there  are 
dozens  of  house-sites!" 

"We'll  see."  Joe  yawned  again,  blinking  at  the 
sun.  "By  the  way,  Ellen,"  he  added,  more  ani 
matedly.  "You  knew  that  Lillian  had  remarried?" 

"Just  that,  through  George.  Have  you  heard  any 
thing  more?  It  was  Lindsay  Pepper,  of  course." 

"It  was  Lindsay  Pepper.     But  the  strange  thing, 


294  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

young  George  Lathrop  told  me,  was  that  she  didn't 
really  want  to  do  it.*' 

"She  lost  some  money  by  it,  under  the  will,  you 
know." 

"Yes,  but  not  only  that.  She  and  the  old  lady  don't 
hit  it  off  at  all  well,  and  all  his  money  comes  from  his 
mother.  Besides  that,  Lillian  would  rather  have  been 
a  rich  widow,  you  know — at  all  events,  she  did  delib 
erately  try  to  get  out  of  it." 

"But,  Joe,  I  don't  see  why  she  couldn't!" 

"Oh,  he  had  a  tremendous  hold  on  her.  You  see  his 
name  was  mixed  up  with  hers  in  the  whole  business. 
If  she  didn't  care  for  him,  she  never  should  have  been 
away  from  home  the  night  of  the  accident !  I  suppose 
he  simply  forced  her  hand.  Funny  thing,"  Joe  added 
reminiscently.  "When  I  first  met  her  she  had  all  the 
cards:  beauty,  youth,  a  rich  man's  wife.  Now  she's 
married  to  a  man  four  years  younger  than  herself, 
who  isn't  exactly  a  teetotaller  you  know,  and  whom 
she  supports — well,  that's  coming  to  her.  They  run 
about  a  good  deal,  and  have  a  speed  car,  and  all  that, 
but  it  isn't  exactly  enviable,  somehow." 

"Poor  Lillian!"  Ellen  said  thoughtfully.  Her  eyes 
went  to  Gibbs,  dozing  on  the  rocks,  and  a  sorrowful 
look  filled  them.  "I  wish  I  hadn't  hated  her!"  she  said 
softly. 

"You  haven't  much  to  regret!"  Joe  assured  her, 
rolling  over  for  a  nap.  They  did  not  speak  again  until 
the  car  grated  on  the  sandy  road  a  few  feet  above 
them. 

They  all  saw  that  the  day  had  tired  Gibbs.  He  was 
a  little  stiff  as  Joe  helped  him  to  the  car,  and  there  was 


fTOSSELYN'S  WIFE  295 

an  anxious  look  in  Ellen's  eyes  until  she  had  him 
established  in  the  spacious,  pleasant  order  of  the  porch 
again,  and  was  personally  superintending  his  slow 
drinking  of  a  glass  of  milk.  Her  keen  eyes  saw  the 
relief  with  which  he  lowered  his  long  body  into  the  soft 
ness  and  smoothness  of  the  couch,  and  a  terror  of  self- 
reproach  smote  her. 

But  he  seemed  to  recover  rapidly.  Presently  he 
was  smiling  and  listening  again  in  his  usual  way,  and 
Ellen  went  off  with  Lizzie,  to  share  the  delight  of  pre 
paring  the  baby  for  bed,  and  to  talk  over  little  Ellen's 
last  meal  of  the  day. 

Tommy,  in  a  glorious  splashing  and  spattering,  was 
profusely  watering  the  garden,  and  Joe  came  over  to 
the  couch,  and  sat  down  at  Gibbs's  side. 

"I'm  afraid  our  descending  on  you  this  way  has  been 
a  good  deal  of  "a  tax,"  Joe  said  regretfully. 

Gibbs  had  been  lying  with  closed  eyes,  and  the  sunken 
hollows  about  them  rilled  Joe  with  concern.  But  now 
he  opened  them  and  smiled,  and  stretched  out  a  hand 
to  clasp  Joe's  fingers. 

"Always  welcome,  at  any  time,  dear  boy,"  he  said 
kindly.  "But  more  than  ordinarily  welcome  now.  I 
had  thought  of  sending  for  you — but  one  puts  things  off 
—and  there's  always  the  danger  of  alarming  Ellen " 

Never  had  Joe  felt  the  other  man's  extraordinary 
charm  as  he  felt  it  now,  when  Gibbs  Josselyn,  at  the 
end  of  a  perfect  September  day,  confided  to  his  care  the 
things  he  loved  best  in  life.  It  seemed  to  Joe  that  all 
the  world  listened  to  the  rich  echo  of  Gibbs's  old  voice, 
for  he  was  speaking  softly,  and  making  no  effort  to  be 
heard.  Joe  had  to  bend  near  to  catch  some  of  the  words. 

"You  see,  old  man,  she's  going  to  need  you  soon. 


296  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

And  that  is  why  I  am  glad  you  really  are  interested 
in  establishing  yourself  in  Los  Antonios.  She'll  go 
away,  for  awhile,  but  she  loves  this  place — and  if  you 
and  Lizzie  and  a  troop  of  children  are  here " 

Tommy  was  directing  a  strong  stream  from  his  hose 
straight  into  the  low,  spreading  branches  of  an  oak, 
the  water  surged  and  dripped  among  the  stiff,  thick 
leaves.  From  the  soaking  garden  came  a  wave  of 
scent.  Joe,  thinking  of  this  talk  afterward,  always 
heard  through  it  the  subdued  rush  and  tumble  of  the 
sea,  and  saw  lines  of  sunset  light  streaming  through 
oaks  and  pepper  trees  across  a  California  garden. 

"You  and  Lizzie  will  look  out  for  her,"  Gibbs  added, 
after  a  silence.  "And  the  baby  will  do  more  than  any 
one!  And  I  think  of  her,  with  books,  and  her  garden, 

and  Tommy,  and  Tommy's  music He's  an  odd 

child,  but  she  understands  him,  and  his  mistakes  won't 
be  the  ordinary  mistakes " 

He  smiled  at  Joe,  and  somehow  Joe  smiled  back, 
although  the  younger  man  felt  tears  hot  behind  his 
eyes. 

"Won't  be  my  mistakes,"  Gibbs  said  musingly. 
"It  was  all  too  easy  for  me.  It  was  always  plain  sail 
ing,  and  that's  not — not  exactly  disciplinary,  you  know. 
I  never  cared  much  about  the  other  fellow's  troubles — 
Ellen's  the  one  for  that — and  now,  lying  here,  Joe,  for 
the  past  few  months,  it's  come  to  me  as  a  sort  of  revela 
tion  that  even  in  this  I'm  having  it  easy.  If  I've  never 
had  any  particular  pity  for  the  fellows  who  haven't 
enough  money,  or  had  sick  wives,,  or  had  to  sit  on  an 
office  stool  eight  hours  a  day — I  certainly  can't  expect 
the  world  to  stand  still  with  sympathy  because  one 
man  happens  to  be  going  out  a  little  ahead  of  time!" 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  297 

Joe  could  find  nothing  to  say,  and  after  a  moment 
Gibbs  spoke  again,  more  briskly: 

"Well!  There  was  another  thing  I  wanted  to  say 
to  you,  and  I'll  say  it,  and  then  we  needn't  take  this 
up  again.  George  Lathrop  was  here  last  summer, 
and  we  went  into  this  a  little.  He  seemed  to  feel 
that  we  might  be  making  too  much  of  this,  and  he  sent 
a  specialist  down  from  San  Francisco — Ellen  never 
knew  why  he  came,  he  happened  to  have  been  in 
Williams  with  me,  and  his  wife  came,  and  all  that. 
But  that's  not  the  point:  the  thing  is  that  I  know  how 
George  feels  about  Ellen,  he's  always  adored  her.  I 
mean  that  he  makes  a  sort  of  little  patron  saint  of  her. 
Every  other  woman  in  his  life  is  judged  by  Ellen. 
Now,  some  day — she'll  be  lonely;  Tommy'll  need  a 
man's  hand,  George  will  be  his  guardian  anyway — 
some  day,  George  will  tell  her — he  can't  help  it — what 
she  is  to  him!  And  that's  where  I  want  you  to  use 
your  own  judgment,  Joe.  I  can't  tell  her  this,  of 
course.  And  also  there's  a  chance  that  she  may  hon 
estly  not  want  to  marry  anyone!  But  if  she  lets  any 
thought  of  me 

"You  might  tell  her  then,"  he  added,  in  a  low  tone, 
"that  the  purest  and  best  and  sweetest  thing  in  my  life 
was  what  she  gave  me — that  no  man  ever  owed  a 
woman  the  debt  I  owe  her!" 

The  voice  stopped.  It  was  twilight  now;  there  was 
no  more  sunlight  under  the  oaks,  and  Tommy  and  his 
hose  were  gone.  The  ocean  moved  like  molten  lead, 
wrinkling  softly  into  opalescent  gray  and  blue  and  silver. 

"Well!"  Gibbs  said  briefly.     "That's  all." 

In  the  long  silence  Lizzie  slipped  out,  and  buried  the 
glimmer  of  her  white  gown  in  a  wide  porch  chair. 


298  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

"If  this  isn't  Heaven!"  she  breathed,  contentedly. 
A  moment  later  Tommy's  little  twilight  concert  began. 
They  could  see  a  pool  of  warm  red  light  about  the  piano, 
in  the  big  sitting  room,  and  Ellen's  bent  dark  head,  and 
the  little  dark  head  over  her  shoulder. 

"There  will  be  a  splendid  moon  to-night,"  Gibbs 
told  them. 

He  and  Ellen  watched  it  together,  hours  later,  when 
Tommy  was  long  in  bed,  and  when  Lizzie  and  Joe  had 
stumbled  away,  as  happily  tired  and  sleepy  as  the  child 
was. 

Then  Ellen  sat  in  her  favourite  seat,  a  low  hassock 
beside  his  couch,  so  that  her  arms  lightly  rested  against 
him,  and  their  ringers  were  laced.  They  had  no  light, 
and  could  look  across  the  low,  broad  rail  of  the  porch, 
straight  into  the  sleeping  garden,  and  down  the  sloping 
sides  of  the  little  canon  to  the  sea.  Silver  moonlight 
poured  in  a  mysterious  flood  over  the  rounded  tops  of 
the  oak  trees,  and  lay  like  an  enchantment  on  the  dewy 
roses  and  wallflowers.  The  surface  of  the  sea  heaved 
softly,  its  far-flung  horizon  seemed  floating  in  ethereal 
light. 

"Et  in  Arcadia  ego,"  Ellen  said. 

"We've  had  more  than  one  Arcady,  Ellen,"  her  hus 
band  answered.  "And  this  has  seemed  to  me  not  less 
perfect,  but  more  perfect,  somehow,  because  it  is  not 
to  last!" 

He  heard  the  quick  rise  of  her  breast,  and  felt  a  faint 
tightening  of  her  fingers. 

"It  has  seemed  right,  somehow,  to  spend  this  year 
with  you  and  Tommy,  here — hasn't  it  been  a  perfect 
year!" 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  299 

"I  won't  allow  you  to  talk  so,  Gibbs,"  she  said,  de* 
terminedly,  but  unsteadily. 

"Just  this  once!"  he  answered,  and  she  could  tell 
by  his  tone  that  he  was  smiling.  His  wonderful  smile 
—the  smile  he  had  given  little  snubbed  Ellen  Latimer, 
when  he  drove  her  to  New  York  in  his  car!  She  felt 
her  throat  tighten. 

"No  formal  good-byes,"  Gibbs  said.  "Not  that! 
For  if  you  don't  know  what  you  are  to  me,  Ellen,  what 
I've  felt  as  you  poured  all  your  goodness  and  sweetness 
and  faith  over  me " 

With  a  sudden  movement  she  laid  her  face  against 
his  hand,  and  he  felt  that  her  eyes  were  wet. 

"Gibbs,  please !" 

"Well,  I  won't.  But  there's  one  thing !  When 

Tommy's  older,  tell  him  the  truth.  There's  a  time  in 
a  boy's  life  when  it  makes  a  lasting  impression  on  him 
to  realize  that  you — you  can't  play  with  fire.  You 
pay,  one  way  or  another.  I'm  paying  this  way. 
There's  too  much  else  for  a  man  to  do,  Ellen — too  many 
things  need  changing  for  any  sane  man,  or  any  woman, 
to  go  right  on  into  the  thirties  with  the  egotism  of  the 
teens.  And  that  brings  me  to  the  other  thing.  Some 
day,  if  you  feel  like  it,  I  wish  you'd  do  something  for 
some  kid  who  has  gotten  himself  in  wrong  with  the 
authorities — I  don't  know  exactly  how — I  wonder 
now,  lying  here,  how  I  could  ever  have  lived  in  a  big 
city,  and  not  realized  that  there  are  fellows  who  haven't 
anything  like  my  natural  advantages,  and  who  get  up 
against  misunderstandings  and  misinterpretations " 

"I  thought,"  Ellen  said  steadily,  "that  when  you 
are  better,  if  we  ever  go  back,  I'd  go  to  Mary  Cutter, 
because  she  is  interested  in  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and 


300  JOSSELYN'S  WIFE 

just  follow  the  cases  in  some  court.  One  couldn't  do 
much,  of  course.  But  there  would  always  be  some* 
thing,  a  visit  to  a  mother,  or  perhaps  a  word  here  or 
there " 

"What  a  little  saint  you  are,  Ellen!  Just  a  little 
inspired  saint,  that's  all!"  Gibbs  exclaimed.  "That's 
just  what  I  mean.  The  law  is  all  right,  of  course. 
It  must  be  what  it  is.  But  I  tell  you,  Ellen,  that  it's 
enough  to  drive  the  decency  and  the  good  out  of  any 
man.  The  coldness,  the  carelessness,  the  smells,  and 
dirt " 

"You  must  forget  all  about  it,"  she  said.  "You 
never  did  anything  to  deserve  a  prison  experience — 
it  was  all  a  horrible  mistake!" 

"It  was  a  mistake  from  a  human  standpoint,'* 
Gibbs  conceded  thoughtfully,  "but  I  don't  know  about 
my  record  in  a  higher  tribunal.  I  wonder  how  many 
of  the  fellows  serving  life  terms  now  ever  had  an  angel 
for  a  mother,  and  a  saint  for  a  wife,  clothes  and  friends 
and  warm  food  from  the  hour  they  were  born,  always 

money  to  buy  prestige  and  service  and  preference ! 

Ellen,  if  I  had  my  life  to  live  over  again,  do  you  know 
what  I  think  it  would  be?  According  to  the  principal 
that  until  every  other  man  had  it,  I  didn't  want  it, 
and  until  every  other  child  had  it,  I  didn't  want  my 
son  to  have  it — whatever  it  was,  travel,  clothes,  educa 
tion,  toys,  everything!" 

"I  suppose  that's  loving  your  neighbour  as  yourself," 
added  Ellen's  thoughtful  voice. 

"Well,  you  go  to  old  George,  and  he  and  Mary 

Cutter  will  help  you  find  the  cases  you're  after " 

Gibbs  was  beginning  again.  But  she  laid  her  hand 
lightly  over  his  lips. 


JOSSELYN'S  WIFE  301 

"Don't  talk  that  way — not  as  if !" 

Her  cheek  was  laid  against  his  hand  again.  He  put 
his  free  hand  softly  on  her  head.  And  even  through 
her  thick,  dark  hair  Ellen  felt  the  chill  of  his  fin 
gers. 


THE  END 


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GAPPY  RICKS 

The  story  of  old  Gappy  Ricks  and  of  Matt  Peasley,  the 
boy  he  tried  to  break  because  he  knew  the  acid  test  was 
good  for  his  soul. 

WEBSTER:   MAN'S  MAN 

In  a  little  Jim  Crow  Republic  in  Central  America,  a  man 
and  a  woman,  hailing  from  the  "  States,"  met  up  with  a 
revolution  and  for  a  while  adventures  and  excitement  came 
so  thick  and  fast  that  their  love  affair  had  to  wait  for  a  lull 
in  the  game. 

CAPTAIN  SCRAGGS 

This  sea  yarn  recounts  the  adventures  of  three  rapscal 
lion  sea-faring  men — a  Captain  Scraggs,  owner  of  the  green 
vegetable  freighter  Maggie,  Gibney  the  mate  and  McGuff- 
ney  the  engineer. 

THE  LONG  CHANCE 

A  story  fresh  from  the  heart  of  the  West,  of  San  Pasqual, 
a  sun-baked  desert  town,  of  Harley  P.  Hennage,  the  best 
gambler,  the  best  and  worst  man  of  San  Pasqual  and  of 
lovely  Donna. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,         PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


RUBY  M.   AYRE'S    NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.       Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list. 


A  fascinating  story  in  which  love  and  jealousy  play 
strange  tricks  with  women's  souls. 

A  BACHELOR  HUSBAND 

Can  a  woman  love  two  men  at  the  same  time  ? 

In  its  solving  of  this  particular  variety  of  triangle  "  A 
Bachelor  Husband  "  will  particularly  interest,  and  strangely 
enough,  without  one  shock  to  the  most  conventional  minded. 

THE  SCAR 

With  fine  comprehension  and  insight  the  author  shows  a 
terrific  contrast  between  the  woman  whose  love  was  of  the 
flesh  and  one  whose  love  was  of  the  spirit. 

THE  MARRIAGE  OF  BARRY  WICKLOW 

Here  is  a  man  and  woman  who,  marrying  for  love,  yet  try 
to  build  their  wedded  life  upon  a  gospel  of  hate  for  each 
other  and  yet  win  back  to  a  greater  love  for  each  other  in 
the  end. 

THE  UPHILL  ROAD 

The  heroine  of  this  story  was  a  consort  of  thieves.  The 
man  was  fine,  clean,  fresh  from  the  West.  It  is  a  story  of 
strength  and  passion. 

WINDS  OF  THE  WORLD 

Jill,  a  poor  little  typist,  marries  the  great  Henry  Sturgess 
and  inherits  millions,  but  not  happiness.  Then  at  .last — but 
we  must  leave  that  to  Ruby  M.  Ayres  to  tell  you  as  only 
she  can. 

THE  SECOND  HONEYMOON 

In  this  story  the  author  has  produced  a  book  which  no 
one  who  has  loved  or  hopes  to  love  can  afford  to  miss. 
The  story  fairly  leaps  from  climax  to  climax. 

THE  PHANTOM  LOVER 

Have  you  not  often  heard  of  someone  being  in  love  with 
love  rather  than  the  person  they  believed  the  object  of  their 
affections  ?  That  was  Esther !  But  she  passes  through  the 
crisis  into  a  deep  and  profound  love. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


EDGAR  RICE  BURPvOUGH'S 
NOVELS 

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TARZAN  THE  UNTAMED 

Tells  of  Tarzan's  return  to  the  life  of  the  ape-man  in 
his  search  for  vengeance  on  those  who  took  from  him  his 
wife  and  home. 

JUNGLE  TALES  OF  TARZAN 

Records  the  many  wonderful  exploits  by  which  Tarzan 
proves  his  right  to  ape  kingship. 

A  PRINCESS  OF  MARS 

Forty-three  million  miles  from  the  earth — a  succession 
of  the  weirdest  and  most  astounding  adventures  in  fiction. 
John  Carter,  American,  finds  himself  on  the  planet  Mars, 
battling  for  a  beautiful  woman,  with  the  Green  Men  of 
Mars,  terrible  creatures  fifteen  feet  high,  mounted  on 
horses  like  dragons. 

THE  GODS  OF  MARS 

Continuing  John  Carter' s  adventures  on  the  Planet  Mars, 
in  which  he  does  battle  against  the  ferocious  "plant  men," 
creatures  whose  mighty  tails  swished  their  victims  to  instant 
death,  and  defies  Issus,  the  terrible  Goddess  of  Death, 
whom  all  Mars  worships  and  reveres. 

THE  WARLORD  OF  MARS 

Old  acquaintances,  made  in  the  two  other  stories,  reap 
pear,  Tars  Tarkas,  Tardos  Mors  and  others.  There  is  a 
happy  ending  to  the  story  in  the  union  of  the  Warlord, 
the  title  conferred  upon  John  Carter,  with  Dejah  Thoris. 

THUVIA,  MAID  OF  MARS 

The  fourth  volume  of  the  series.  The  story  center? 
around  the  adventures  of  Carthoris,  the  son  of  John  Car' 
ter  and  Thuvia,  daughter  of  a  Martian  Emperor. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP.  PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


JAMES   OLIVER  CURWOOD'S 

STORIES  OF  ADVENTURE 

May  be  Inrf  wturaver  books  are  srid.      Ask  for  Grosset  &  Duntap's  list 

THE  RIVER'S  END~ 

A  story  of  the  Royal  Mounted  Police. 
THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Thrilling  adventures  in  the  Far  Northland. 
NOMADS  OF  THE  NORTH 

The  story  of  a  bear-cub  and  a  dog. 
KAZAN 

The  tale  of  a  "quarter-strain  wolf  and  three-quarters  husky"  torn 
between  the  call  of  the  human  and  his  wild  mate. 

BAREE,  SON  OF  KAZAN 

The  story  of  the  son  of  the  blind  Grey  Wolf  and  the  gallant  part 
he  played  in  the  lives  of  a  man  and  a  woman. 

THE  COURAGE  OF  CAPTAIN  PLUM 

The  story  of  the  King  of  Beaver  Island,  a  Mormon  colony,  and  his 
battle  with  Captain  Plum. 

THE  DANGER  TRAIL 

,    A  tale  of  love,  Indian  vengeance,  and  a  mystet/  of  the  North. 
THE  HUNTED  WOMAN 

A  tale  of  a  great  fight  in  the  "  valley  of  gold"  for  a  woman.. 
THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  NORTH 

The  story  of  Fort  o'  God,  where  the  wild  flavor  of  th«  wilderness 
Is  blended  with  the  courtly  atmosphere  of  France. 

THE  GRIZZLY  KING 

The  story  of  Thor,  the  big  grizzly. 
ISOBEL 

A  lo-'e  story  of  the  Far  North. 
THE  WOLF  HUNTERS 

A  thrilling  tale  of  adventure  in  the  Canadian  wilderness.. 
THE  GOLD  HUNTERS 

The  story  of  adventure  in  the  Hudson  Bay  wilds. 
THE  COURAGE  OF  MARGE  O'DOONE 

Filled  with  exciting  incidents  in  the  land  of  strong  men  and  women. 
BACK  TO  GOD'S  COUNTRY 

A  thrilling  story  of  the  Far  North.  The  great  Photoplay  was  made 
from  this  book. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


ZANE  GREY'S  NOVELS 

Hay  be  had  wherever  books  ars  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list. 

THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST 
THE  DESERT  OF  WHEAT 
THE  U.  P.  TRAIL 
WILDFIRE 

THE  BORDER  LEGION 
THE  RAINBOW  TRAIL 
THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  DESERT 
RIDERS   OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE 
THE  LIGHT  OF  WESTERN  STARS 
THE  LAST  OF  THE  PLAINSMEN 
THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER . 
DESERT  GOLD 
BETTY  ZANE 

»*#**" 
LAST  OF  THE  GREAT  SCOUTS 

The  life  story  of  "  Buffalo  Bill"  by  his  sister  Helen  Cody 
Wetmore,  with  Foreword  and  conclusion  by  Zane  Grey. 

ZANE  GREY'S  BOOKS  FOR  BOYS 

KEN  WARD  IN  THE  JUNGLE 
THE  YOUNG  LION  HUNTER 
THE  YOUNG  FORESTER 
THE  YOUNG  PITCHER 
THE  SHORT  STOP 

THE  RED-HEADED  OUTFIELD  AND  OTHER 
BASEBALL  STORIES 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  •       PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


FLORENCE  L.  BARCLAY'S 
NOVELS 

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THE  WHITE  LADIES  OF  WORCESTER 

A  novel  of  the  12th  Century.  The  heroine,  believing  she 
had  lost  her  lover,  enters  a  convent.  He  returns,  and  in 
teresting  developments  follow. 

THE  UPAS  TREE 

A  love  story  of  rare  charm.  It  deals  with  a  successful 
author  and  his  wife. 

THROUGH  THE  POSTERN  GATE 

The  story  of  a  seven  day  courtship,  in  which  the  dis 
crepancy  in  ages  vanished  into  insignificance  before  the 
convincing  demonstration  of  abiding  love. 

THE  ROSARY 

The  story  of  a  young  artist  who  is  reputed  to  love  beauty 
above  all  else  in  the  world,  but  who,  when  blinded  through 
an  accident,  gains  life's  greatest  happiness.  A  rare  story 
of  the  great  passion  of  two  real  people  superbly  capable  of 
love,  its  sacrifices  and  its  exceeding  reward. 

THE  MISTRESS  OF  SHENSTONE 

The  lovely  young  Lady  Ingleby,  recently  widowed  by  the 
death  of  a  husband  who  never  understood  her,  meets  a  fine, 
clean  young  chap  who  is  ignorant  of  her  title  and  they  fall 
deeply  in  love  with  each  other.  When  he  learns  her  real 
identity  a  situation  of  singular  power  is  developed. 

THE  BROKEN  HALO 

The  story  of  a  young  man  whose  religious  belief  was 
shattered  in  childhood  and  restored  to  him  by  the  little 
white  lady,  many  years  older  than  himself,  to  whom  he  is 
passionately  devoted. 

THE  FOLLOWING  OF  THE  STAR 

The  story  of  a  young  missionary,  who,  about  to  start  for 
Africa,  marries  wealthy  Diana  Rivers,  in  order  to  help  her 
fulfill  the  conditions  of  her  uncle's  will,  and  how  they  finally 
come  to  love  each  other  and  are  reunited  after  experiences 
that  soften  and  purify.  

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


ETHEL    M*    DELL'S    NOVELS 


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THE  LAMP  IN  THE  DESERT 

The  scene  of  this  splendid  story  is  laid  in  India  and 
tells  of  the  lamp  of  love  that  continues  to  shine  through 
all  sorts  of  tribulations  to  final  happiness. 

GREATHEART 

The  story  of  a  cripple  whose  deformed  body  conceals 
a  noble  soul. 

THE  HUNDREDTH  CHANCE 

A  hero  who  worked  to  win  even  when  there  was  only 
"a  hundredth  chance." 

THE  SWINDLER 

The  story  of  a  "bad  man's"  soul  revealed  by  a 
toman's  faith. 

THE  TIDAL  WAVE 

Tales  of  love  and  of  women  who  learned  to  know  the 
true  from  the  false. 

THE  SAFETY  CURTAIN 

A  very  vivid  love  story  of  India.  The  volume  also 
contains  four  other  long  stories  of  equal  interest. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


ELEANOR  H.  PORTER'S  NOVELS 

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JUST  DAVID 

The  tale  of  a  loveable  boy  and  the  place  he  comes  to 
fill  in  the  hearts  of  the  gruff  farmer  folk  to  whose  care  he 
is  left. 

THE  ROAD  TO  UNDERSTANDING 

A  compelling  romance  of  love  and  marriage. 
OH,  MONEY!  MONEY! 

Stanley  Fulton,  a  wealthy  bachelor,  to  test  the  disposi 
tions  of  his  relatives,  sends  them  each  a  check  for  $100,- 
000,  and  then  as  plain  John  Smith  comes  among  them  to 
watch  the  result  of  his  experiment. 

SIX  STAR  RANCH 

A  wholesome  story  of  a  club  of  six  girls  and  their  sum 
mer  on  Six  Star  Ranch. 

DAWN 

The  story  of  a  blind  boy  whose  courage  leads  him 
through  the  gulf  of  despair  into  a  final  victory  gained  by 
dedicating  his  life  to  the  service  of  blind  soldiers. 

ACROSS  THE  YEARS 

Short  stories  of  our  own  kind  and  of  our  own  people. 
Contains  some  of  the  best  writing  Mrs.  Porter  has  done. 

THE  TANGLED  THREADS 

In  these  stories  we  find  the  concentrated  charm  and 
tenderness  of  all  her  other  books. 

THE  TIE  THAT  BINDS 

Intensely  human  stories  told  with  Mrs.  Porter's  won 
derful  talent  for  warm  and  vivid  character  drawing. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 
\  - 


"STORM  COUNTRY"  BOOKS  BY 

GRACE  MILLER  WHITE 

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JUDY  OF  ROGUES'  HARBOR 

Judy's  untutored  ideas  of  God,  her  love  of  wild  things, 
her  faith  in  life  are  quite  as  inspiring  as  those  of  Tess. 
Her  faith  and  sincerity  catch  at  your  heart  strings.  This 
book  has  all  of  the  mystery  and  tense  action  of  the  other 
Storm  Country  books. 

TESS  OF  THE  STORM  COUNTRY 

It  was  as  Tess,  beautiful,  wild,  impetuous,  that  Mary 
Pickford  made  her  reputation  as  a  motion  picture  actress. 
How  love  acts  upon  a  temperament  such  as  hers — a  tem 
perament  that  makes  a  woman  an  angel  or  an  outcast,  ac 
cording  to  the  character  of  the  man  she  loves — is  the 
theme  of  the  story. 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  STORM  COUNTRY 

The  sequel  to  "  Tess  of  the  Storm  Country,"  with  the 
same  wild  background,  with  its  half-gypsy  life  of  the  squat 
ters — tempestuous,  passionate,  brooding.  Tess  learns  the 
"  secret "  of  her  birth  and  finds  happiness  and  love  through 
her  boundless  faith  in  Me. 

FROM  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  MISSING 

A  haunting  story  with  its  scene  laid  near  the  country 
familiar  to  readers  of  "  Tess  of  the  Storm  Country." 

ROSE  O'  PARADISE 

"  Jinny  "  Singleton,  wild,  lovely,  lonely,  but  with  a  pas 
sionate  yearning  for  music,  grows  up  in  the  house  of  Lafe 
Grandoken,  a  crippled  cobbler  of  the  Storm  Country.  Her 
romance  is  full  of  power  and  glory  and  tenderness. 

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